A Robotic Heart
by AnimatedC9000
Summary: Jim Henson Hour. A certain semi-robotic person reminisces about his life when a dream connected to his past haunts him. Written in Digit's POV. Currently updating and revising. Currently updated through Chapter 10.
1. Chapter 1

It was the same as it was every night. There I was in the same dark room, and there were my friends, Lindbergh, Vicki, Waldo and all the others, gathered around the same confounded table they were in every dream, performing the same doomed experiment. As I watched them, I noticed, as I always did, that something didn't look right. The chemicals they were mixing were too volatile, and anyone with any training in chemistry could tell that there was a great risk of a dangerous reaction. The people gathered around the table however, had no training. As I looked on with apprehension, I saw Waldo pick up a beaker of what I could tell to be myamila gerisolite, a highly explosive agent even under the best of circumstances, and move to pour it into the compound. Knowing that I couldn't let this happen, I tried frantically to get the attention of one of them. Finally, my calling and arm-waving got the attention of Vicki, who smiled and waved me over. I ran over, in the hopes that I could stop this experiment before it went too far. It was too late. The chemical had been poured; the damage had been done. I heard a ground-shaking explosion, and saw a large cloud of smoke. I felt myself being thrown backwards by the blast, but I knew I was the only one. I couldn't see them, but I knew the others had been caught up in the explosion. Suddenly, I felt myself falling rapidly...

* * *

... and immediately found myself screaming as I fell out of bed.

As soon as my body hit the floor, I sat up and breathed heavily, trying to calm myself down. I'd experienced that dream-no, nightmare-for weeks upon end now and didn't know how to prevent it. At first I thought it would pass, but now...

"Digit?"

Looking up, I saw my friend and roommate standing at the doorway of my room in his pajamas, tiredly rubbing his eyes. Floating beside him was a little computer graphic who yawned. "What're you doing screaming in the middle of the night?" my friend drowsily asked me.

Apparently, my scream of fright had awoken them from their slumber. Not knowing how to answer either of them, I simply remained silent.

"Did you have a bad dream or something?" the floating creature asked. "Must've been really loud..."

"You were screaming like you just saw something bad, or something," the other added.

I could not believe how correct both Lindbergh and Waldo were... "... well, yes," I replied, "but… you see… I've been having this.. dream for..."

"I know, nights now," my kiwi friend finished, moving to kneel beside me on the floor.

"We've been hearing that same scream for lots of nights in lots of weeks now," the graphic said, his drowsy eyes looking at me. "What's going on with you? You're not glitching or anything, are you?"

"No, Waldo, I'm not glitching..." To be perfectly honest, I had been asking myself the same question ever since I first had that nightmare. The friends, the dark room, the chemicals, the explosion... it could possibly mean only one thing... "Lindbergh, I think my past is coming back to haunt me..."

Lindbergh looked me over. "... your past? ... like, when you became-"

"Yes, that." Lindbergh was the only one other than myself that knew about what happened to me… how I became the way I am today...

But he, ever the optimist, tried his best to reassure me that things were okay. "Aw, don't get yourself worried about this stuff, Digit. Maybe you did something all those nights to make you have that dream... like some of your wires got crossed again." He paused. "... do you want me to look?"

"... no," I said after a period of silence, crawling back up to my bed. "I think I can make it..."

He looked sort of sad after I said that. "Well, okay," he said, then he returned to a semi-chipper voice. "I hope you get to feeling better... Good night, Digit."

"Good night, Lindbergh, Waldo," I nodded as they were leaving.

Poor little Waldo, ignorant of what had went on in years past (as he was not even there with me until the 1980s), raised an eyebrow in confusion. "When what happened-?"

"It's a long story, Waldo," Lindbergh interrupted, leading him out of the room. "Digit doesn't like to talk about it."

"Aww, but I wanna know!" the graphic whined. "He's basically my dad; dads are supposed to tell stories of the good old days when they rode trolleys to work and when sugar costed ten cents a bag and stuff like that!"

"It's hard to understand if I told you, Waldo," was one of the last things I heard Lindbergh say that night. "Maybe he can tell you all about it someday." Then he closed the door and went back to his room to sleep again, Waldo no doubt floating back to his computer resting site with questions in his computer-generated head still unanswered.

Lindbergh had been one of my oldest and dearest friends. He's been with me ever since the accident and has never left me since. We were so close that we even moved in together after I was released from the hospital. From then on, we've pretty much been inseparable, partially because we became best friends, and partially because he's one of the only ones that knows how to actually fix me whenever I glitch.

Then there was Waldo C. Graphic, the self-proclaimed "spirit of 3-D". He was a playful computer graphic who always had fun on the job and elsewhere. The little graphic had gone through a lot, including major redesigns from when I first activated him on a computer. I consided him to be the closest thing to a son that I'd ever have. After all, I basically coded him from scratch and activated him at all those places, including our former workplace, Muppet Central.

Of course, that's not to say that I don't have other friends. There're the members of Solid Foam, a band that I was in back in the Eighties (and a little bit earlier). I played keyboard, Clifford played bass, Beard was our guitarist, Flash on saxophone (although he could also play the fiddle), and his girlfriend Francine was our drummer. We were close as well, and it seemed as if we knew what was going on with each other, especially during that one period of time...

So many other names came to my mind. There was Kermit the Frog, my boss and friend. Gonzo was also there, that delightful little alien who loved dangerous stunts and poultry. So was Leon, Kermit's chameleon cousin and con artist. Still more were Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, his assistant Beaker, and all of the Electric Mayhem.

And then there was that one name that was so dear to my heart. The very mention of it sent a vision of happiness and loveliness to my mind. She was always so happy and upbeat, with the sweetest personality I could ever think of. She was so beautiful and magnificent, a real angel on Earth... at least to me.

At that moment, my hands felt over just a few of the items that I had taken out during my moments of solitude. A high school diploma... a photo album... a college degree... a paper heart... All of them brought back so many memories...

I knew that I couldn't go back to sleep. My mind was wide awake and didn't want to shut down for the rest of the night. Having nothing else to do, I sat down at my desk and booted up my laptop. Then, when everything was situated, I started to reminisce about the times gone by, typing memories that flooded into my mind down on the computer.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sorry to say that I can't remember that much about my life before the accident. I'm pretty sure that it was an average life. I vaguely remember getting good grades, but I also remember not having that many friends. I don't remember having any siblings, either; I do, however, remember having an imaginary friend that later was the main influence to a special creation of mine. I doubt that I was ever in a relationship back then, given that I clearly remember that I didn't go to any prom.

However, my earliest childhood memory that I can fully remember involved working on a science project when I was in middle school. I was frustrated, not being able to figure out why a certain part in my experiment wouldn't work out. I was in the midst of a break when a knock came on my door.

"May I come in, sweetie?" a woman asked, poking her head into my room. Her hair was light brown in color and she had a very radiant smile. The detail that was very prominent about her was her species: She was human.

"Sure, Mom," I replied with a sigh.

The woman I referred to as Mom entered the room and sat down beside me on my bed. "How's the science project coming along, Michael?"

My full name was Michael Lloyd Scott. That was when I was still human and was in a family. From what I could recollect, it was just my mother and I. I don't remember having a father figure in my life.

"Not so good, Mom," I said, motioning over to my experiment. "I can't seem to make it work."

Mom took a look at the project, then back at me. "Son, you have the best grades in science that I've ever seen. You're telling me that you can't get the project- that, remember, you designed - to work?"

"I've tried everything," I told her. "I've looked and re-looked at the plans. Heck, I've even redesigned a few parts so it could work."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mom, I've tried everything."

"Everything?"

She had me there. After a few awkward moments of silence, I answered her. "... what do you think I should do?"

My mother looked at me and smiled. "Michael, I know you can think of something to make it work. You just have to keep trying until you eventually get it right."

If anything, my mother was a great motivator. She was always encouraging me to try new things and also was very supportive in my experiments.

Looking back at my experiment, I pondered my mother's words. What else could be done to improve it, I wondered.

Standing up from my position near the edge of the bed, I headed towards the desk that supported my project and began to look over it and the plans again. Before I began to tinker, however, my mother spoke again. "Remember that bedtime's in an hour."

I flashed a smile as I looked over my shoulder at her. "Okay, Mom," I said in return. "Good night."

"Good night sweetie." With a smile and an air kiss, she left the room.

I ultimately stayed up late that night, tinkering and fixing my project until I thought it would work. Then I activated it and watched as the experiment worked like a charm. With the work finally completed, I almost immediately fell asleep afterwards.

* * *

It should come as no surprise to anyone that my project earned an excellent grade in my science class. In fact, it might not surprise anyone if I revealed that my grades were excellent in all of my classes. (Except for P.E. I've never been that athletic.) All through my school years, I was in the top students of my class and excelled in pretty much every subject. (Again, not in P.E. at all.)

Among my fellow students, however, I wasn't what some might consider "popular". You see, I was mostly known to be studying by myself or experimenting than being involved with a group of people. As a result, I hardly received an invitation to any of the major parties or had a date for prom.

Still, I did manage to have friends in the teachers. They were always encouraging me to do the best that I could in my classes, just like Mom was encouraging me at home. I even actually had after-school access to the science lab thanks to Mr. Hucklebee, my science teacher in high school.

While in school, I also took an interest in photography. I'm hardly one to brag, but I took pretty decent pictures back then, and I still do every once in a while. In fact, it was because of my skills in that area that allowed me to join the school paper staff and (eventually) the yearbook committee.

By the time I was a senior, I was named the valedictorian of my class. My grades were high, my social life was improving (a little), I was the principle photographer for the yearbook committee, and my future seemed bright. It seemed that nothing in the world was going to stop me from achieving my major goals in life.

That is, until that one fatal day in early June that changed my life forever...


	3. Chapter 3

The day started out like any other normal day. I went to school, took my classes, ate lunch, and studied. However, I had planned to stay after school for a major science experiment and to develop some photos in the lab.

It was quite normal for me to stay after school to work on some days. My mom always knew that I was either at the school when I wasn't at home (or if I didn't tell her that I was going to a different place beforehand, which was rare) and even the students expected it from me. To be honest, I didn't know I was that predictable...

Anyway, on that particular day, I was walking the halls towards the science classroom with Mr. Hucklebee, the science teacher.

"Thank you so much for letting me use the lab for my experiment, Mr. Hucklebee," I thanked him.

"It's no trouble at all, Michael," he replied, handing me the keys to the science lab. "Just make sure to lock up after you're through."

"Oh, I will, sir." I didn't know how to thank him enough. That science teacher was one of the nicest guys that I've ever known.

After he left, I immediately rushed to the photo lab to check up on the photos and to develop some negatives. Being the head photographer for the yearbook staff, I also had a key to the journalism room and the photography lab.

I took my time developing the negatives. After all, I had plenty of time later to do my experiment. Besides, it was the weekend anyway.

As I strolled back to the science lab, I thought about my life so far. I was going to be graduating from high school next month, the valedictorian of the class. As part of the tradition of the top-honor students, I had a speech written up for the graduation ceremony that I put much time and effort in.

I unlocked the door to the lab and set my things on top of and around a vacant desk. I unfolded the experiment plans and left then open on the table as I went over to the cabinet to fetch the beakers and the other supplies.

While all of this was going on, I was going over the speech in my head. _"Fellow graduates, this is a day of rejoicing."_

After setting up the beakers, I carefully brought over the chemicals needed for the experiment. _"Today is the day that we leave the life we once knew and go out into the realm of the unknown to polish out skills."_

I hadn't realized it until later, but I accidentally brought over a very fatal chemical over to the experiment table instead of one of the ones that was needed... _"Who knows the great dangers that we might face for the rest of our lives? Nobody knows for sure..."_

With all the materials gathered, I officially began the experiment. _"... but with our education, our generation will surely rise up to meet any challenge."_

Chemical after chemical, the reactions unfolded out before me. _"We must learn to chart our own course in life. The road will be challenging, but for with hard work comes great results..."_

After time had past, I had gathered most of the information that I needed and the experiment looked to be a success. _"...whether they be small..."_

I then reached for the beaker containing the fatal chemical, myamila gerisolite. _"… or colossal in size."_

Carefully, I poured a small amount of it in a tube and watched, notebook in hand, ready to record the results. _"Because we have the keys to our own futures..."_

A single drop was about to enter the compound. _"... it would be very frightening if that life was misused in the wrong way."_

It's amazing how a simple mistake can change a person's whole life.

An explosion rang out through the almost vacant halls of the high school. Inside the science lab, glass was shattering and the place was filling up with dangerous smoke. The force of the blast caused me to fly backwards into a cabinet.

My head crashed into a shelf and I immediately blacked out, not knowing that this fatal experiment was the ending of the life I once knew and the beginning of a very different one.


	4. Chapter 4

"Doctor, will he be all right?" _What do they mean, will I be all right?_

"No one can be for certain about that, ma'am. We can only wait for him to wake up." _Wake up? Then why can I hear you?_

"We're here to run some tests on him, just to make sure he's still alive." _I am alive. Why do you think I'm deceased?_

I heard these voices and more as I lied on a flat yet elevated surface, my eyes closed. I could hardly remember anything that happened. All I know is that I was someplace different than what I was used to.

Over the next few days, I slipped in and out of consciousness, only listening to the voices and sounds around me, until one day when I managed to open my eyes a little. All I could do was look around the room. I was in a hospital room with machines all around me for some reason. It was apparently in the isolated part of the hospital because there were no visitors coming to see me at the moment.

Immediately, numerous questions flooded into my brain. What happened? Why was I in this place? Why was I surrounded by machines? And why was I picking up radio signals all of a sudden?

A nurse entered the room as I was pondering. "Good morning," she said with a smile. "How are you doing?"

I tried to sit up more and answer her, but it hurt to move. I let out a moan in pain.

"Ah, don't move around so much," the nurse said as she helped me lie back down on the hospital bed. "You're in the hospital, sir. There was a chemical explosion at the school, and we found you among the rubble. You're lucky to have survived that blast."

Chemical explosion? I suddenly realized that the experiment that I was doing had something to do with this. What went wrong, what went wrong...?

What appeared to be a television screen suddenly turned on and started to visualize my thoughts. I saw myself grabbing the necessary equipment, the chemicals, and- wait a minute!

The "movie" immediately rewound and paused. There was a name on a chemical container that could hardly make out. My... illa... gersol...

My eye sight immediately refocused to read the words. Myamila gerisolite! Of course! That was a very explosive chemical that, even under the best circumstances, was very dangerous. How could I've been so blind as to pick that one up?

"Amazing!"

I looked over at the nurse. She was studying some printouts that appeared out of a printer. "Why, you're adjusting to your new gifts very well, young man."

New gifts? What did she mean by that?

"I'll tell the others that you've woken up and run these printouts to the doctors," she said before she left the room, leaving me alone.

For several days after that, the doctors all came and ran several tests on me. Tests, of memory, tests of knowledge, tests of skill, all while I was still in the hospital bed. Of course, I had no clue what the tests were about, yet they seemed to please the doctors so much that they were calling me "a medical wonder".

When the doctors weren't in the room, I was left alone to my thoughts. I couldn't move around well just yet, so most of my time was spent lying in bed, thinking to myself and listening to TV and radio broadcasts. Actually, the receiving of the broadcasts further puzzled me. Was I some kind of transmitter person now? What was happening to me?

One day, everything was running well. I was listening to a radio melodrama about a woman, a man, and a jealous suitor when a few doctors came in.

"Hello," I said in a weak voice, somewhat surprised that I could still talk after what happened. Judging by the doctors' reactions, they were surprised as well. "Are you here to do more testing?"

The two doctors exchanged glances between each other before one of them spoke to me. "You've come a long way since you've arrived, young man," he said to me. "If you don't mind, we're going to operate on you some more."

I involuntarily sat up in the bed. "More operation?" I asked through the pain. The other doctor was moving closer to me, reaching his hand out to something on my chest. "But why? What were the first operations for?"

All I got in reply before I blacked out was, "We'll tell you everything when you wake up again."

* * *

I learned later that a team of both scientists and doctors operated on me so that I could have a better life support system. That makes sense to me now, but at the time, I didn't know what all of that talk meant. For all I knew, they were treating me like some piece of machinery more than an actual person.

Anyway, after I woke up again, I realized that I finally had full control over all of my actions. I could finally sit up by my own, move my hands around, and my head could turn.

In all of this rejoicing, my mood turned to concern when I noticed that my skin seemed pale. Actually, it seemed paler than that of a regular human's skin. Very suspicious…

Stranger than that was what appeared to be a control panel on my chest. It had all sorts of buttons and switches on it, including one for the master power. By now, I know how to operate it, but back then I was wondering why I even needed it.

I scratched the top of my head, wondering what was going on. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I had no hair on top of my head but what felt like wires growing. By then, I was beginning to freak out a little.

Curious to see whether I could control the movement of my lower half as well, I carefully scooted over to the side of the bed until my legs dangled off the side. I cautiously stood on my two feet and started to take my first few steps. As I walked around, I noticed that my movements were accompanied by a soft whirring sound. At first I thought that the noise was all in my head, but judging from all the other things that had happened to me, I knew that something was up.

Quick a I could, I rushed over to a mirror to examine myself. When I turned on the light, the reflection that I saw made me scream in shock.

No more was I human. I was now part-human, part-robot - what the sci-fi community would later define as a cyborg.


	5. Chapter 5

For the next several weeks or so, I was in a slight denial. I didn't want to believe that I was turn into a robotic person, especially since I had almost no control over it. Yet, with help from counselors and a new friend, I managed to overcome those problems and learned how to control myself.

During those weeks, specialists were in my room, trying to help me readjust to everyday life. I learned how to control my motor reflexes better and how to improve my then-weak speaking skills, among other things. They all said that I made amazing progress, but there was one slight problem. (Besides the fact that they kept calling me "mister Doe".)

Sometimes during the lessons, I acted up. That is to say, the electronics inside my body acted up. From time to time, my motor reflexes would short-circuit, my voice system would malfunction, or I'd blow a fuse when I blew my nose. My case was a curious one, and finding someone who could fix all of my glitches would be quite a task.

Fortunately, I met the right man- or bird, I'd rather say- for the job clearly by chance one day.

It was late morning, sometime close to noon. My legs were being unresponsive, so I was forced to stay in bed. I was sitting up in my hospital bed, working on a crossword puzzle in the daily paper ("Let's see… Thirty-two down: Acquaintance…"). In the middle of completing an entry, I heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I called out, half-expecting for it to be a doctor or a nurse to run some tests on me.

"Plumbing services!" an unfamiliar voice replied to me. "May I come in, sir?"

I blinked. Plumbing services? What did I need a plumber for? Unless there was something wrong with the sink again… "Sure, come right on in," I said. "The door's unlocked."

The creature I saw enter the room then made my eyes widen. It was a kiwi bird with shaggy brown feathers and beady eyes. He wore a shirt, overalls, and a hat, and had a tool belt around his waist. "Thank you," he said to me before going to work.

At first, I didn't know what to make of the situation. All I knew that I was a robotic patient at a hospital with a kiwi plumber in my room. Abandoning the crossword puzzle, I decided to speak to the bird as he started to set up his workspace. (A plumber was better than no visitors at all.) "So... you're the plumber?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," the kiwi answered, not looking up from his work. "I'm also an expert at first aid, a TV repairman, a pipe fitter, and a sheet metal worker."

I was surprised about all of the jobs that he had. "Quite a résumé," I commented.

"Thanks," he said, turning to me with a smile on his face. "You're not so bad yourself."

I was slightly confused about why he said that. "I beg your pardon, sir, but-"

"Oh, it's Lindbergh," the kiwi said to me, standing up and tipping his hat. "Lindbergh C. Kiwi, at your service."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lindbergh," I replied with a slight smile.

"Don't mention it, sir."

Sir? That was a little bit too formal for my liking at that moment, especially since he went to all the trouble to introduce himself to me. "You can call me... Michael, if you'd like," I introduced myself, remembering my name as somewhat of a faded memory after all the times the staff referred to me as mister Doe. "Michael... L. Scott. Pleasure to meet you, Lindbergh."

"Michael Scott?" Lindbergh repeated, curiosity in his voice. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

I blinked. Did he know about me? I searched my already fuzzy mental database for some clue. "... well, I was the vale... vale... val-e-dic-torian of my class, which I believe graduated this pa-"

"Wait, I got it!" the plumber exclaimed with a snap of his winged fingers and a turn towards me. "You're that guy who founded that natural history museum in Columbia! My second cousin _loves_ that museum!"

... or he didn't know me at all and mistook me for someone else. (Is Michael Scott that common a name, I wonder?) "No, wait, wasn't he that mathematician, or was that that one golfer...?" the kiwi pondered before I sighed. "Never mind," I dismissed the conversation, "I thought that... never mind."

"Never mind about what, Michael?" Lindbergh asked. "I have time to talk about it."

"I-I don't want you to lose your job because you were talking to me," I responded, half-telling the truth behind my reasonings. After a few seconds of silence, the repair-bird shrugged and turned back to his project. However, it felt a little too quiet then, so I decided to just make casual conversation. "So... what does the 'C' stand for, if you don't mind me asking?"

The kiwi looked up. "Huh?"

"The 'C' in your name," I clarified. "Sorry if I'm prying into your life a little too quickly..."

"Oh," he said, slowly nodding. "It's no problem. That my middle name, Clive."

"Nice middle name," I commented.

"Eh, you get used to it after the years. Especially since my twin brother has the same name that I have."

"Your parents named you both the same?" I questioned, my head tilted in confusion.

"Nope! Mom and Dad named us Lindbergh and Clive," Lindbergh started to explain in a more chipper tone, eyes glued to the pipe leading out from under the sink, "and they gave us the other's middle name. School was tough for us because of that. The teachers could hardly tell which one of us was which. But it all worked out as we got older!"

My eyes widened. "Really? How?"

The kiwi smiled (which was hard to tell because of his beak). "Clive was more interested in acting. Me, though," he shrugged. "I was more into wood- and metal-working. My dad actually gave me my very first tool set! Ever since then, I started to work and now I can repair just about anything!"

Suddenly, something in my head seemed to click. _Maybe he could help me with some of the problems I've been having recently,_ I thought. "Listen Lindbergh, do you think you can help me out a little?"

The kiwi, surprised by my request, responded almost instantly as he tightened a bolt on the sink. "Sure Michael, what is it?"

I looked down at my legs, which were under the sheets of the bed, as I began my explanation. "You see, I've been confided to my bed for a few days because the motor reflex mechanisms in my legs have shorted out. The doctors say it'll take some time to fix, but I was wondering if you could help out with repair some."

"Sure I can!" Lindbergh happily replied, grabbing his wrench and making it over to my bedside. "Just let me see what I can do here..."

After having assistance swinging my legs over to the side of the hospital bed, he began to work. The kiwi then started to mess around with some of the knobs on the control panel on my chest, trying to find something before he unscrewed a panel on the back on my head. I tried very hard not to laugh as he searched around. "Aha! Here we are!" Tightening what appeared to be a few loose bolts with a screwdriver, he then closed the panel back up and started to test my reflexes by possibly the only way he knew how to: by pounding a hammer against my legs.

"OW!" I immediately retracted my legs from the hard hit. "What was that for?"

"Just testing your reflexes," Lindbergh explained me. "They seem to be pretty good. Try to walk around now."

Taking his advice, I stood up on the floor and started to take some steps around the room. I wasn't making awkward movements when I was moving anymore. "I... I can walk again!" My hand grabbed his wing in a fast handshake. "Lindbergh, you're a life saver! Thank you!"

"Aw, it's no trouble at all," the kiwi said back, a sense of a job-well-done in his voice. "Just doing my job."

The door opened. "What is going on in here?" a very alarmed nurse demanded.

Oh. Right. We were in a public hospital. I had let out a scream of shock. I was now standing on the floor on my own two feet.

And I might have just cost the plumber his job.

Shoot.

"I fixed the sink," Lindbergh piped in, putting down his hammer and breaking the silence that was settling in. He turned the faucet on and off, proving his point.

"He did more than that," I quickly added, continuing despite the odd look the nurse was giving me. "He fixed my legs! I can move again!" I quickly demonstrated by walking back and forth before almost toppling backwards. "It's a miracle..."

"Then what was with that scream I heard?" the confused nurse asked.

"That was fixing his legs," the kiwi answered before I could open my mouth. "Special technique. I couldn't believe it actually worked."

"Um, ma'am," I spoke up again, trying to help our case, "I know that the staff has been searching for a repairman to help with my problem for a while now. Well, with the hospital's permission, I would like for him to be my personal repairman."

"Me?" Lindbergh asked, blinking.

"Yes," I said. "From now on, you'll be in charge of helping me fix my malfunctions and glitches whenever they may happen. That is," I added as I glanced towards the nurse, "if the hospital does allow it..."

With those words (and a bit of pleading), I had not only found a repairman, but a best friend in Lindbergh C. Kiwi, one of the nicest birds I've ever known.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't until years later that I decided to research just what all brought about the decision to make me a cyborg. What I found out was surprisingly shocking. According to the medical records I had faxed over, there was no possible way to identify my body among the rubble. My face was deconstructed, my dental records near-unidentifiable, any sort of fingerprints were damaged, and my vital signs were all over the place. In order to save the life of a Mister John Doe, they decided to perform an experimental procedure to bring me back to life.

I could go into detail about the actual procedure itself, but I think I might make myself a bit queasy just rambling on about it. Besides, that's not either here nor there.

Now, back to the part where I was just about to be released to the hospital.

Eventually, I was released from the hospital after recovering for a while. Since they had no record of any relatives and couldn't get anything from me because of my fuzzy memory, Lindbergh was kind enough to drive me out of the hospital in his company car ("I got it from my uncle," he explained to me later) and to my house. I wanted to show my mother (by then already becoming a memory) that I was all right, and that I had made a new friend while I was in the hospital.

Unfortunately, Mom was out of the house that day, and the door was locked.

"Darn," I said in defeat after fiddling with the doorknob for a while.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" my kiwi companion asked me. "This is your home, right? Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere back there."

I nodded in his direction, searching under the mat for a spare key. My search was rewarded.

"It looks like a nice place, Michael," Lindbergh commented to me.

"Wait until you see the inside," I said as I unlocked the front door and let the two of us in.

"Gee, it is a nice place!" he exclaimed, looking around.

A smile crept on my face. I was finally home. After countless days of being in the hospital, I was finally home. I sat down on the couch. It felt good to be back.

Lindbergh was looking at the pictures on the wall. "Is this your mom?" he asked.

I walked over to him and looked at the picture that he was observing. In that picture, my mother and I were standing side by side, smiling at the camera. "Yes," I answered after taking it all in. "That's my mother and myself in that picture."

"Wow, both of you sure look happy." The kiwi turned to me. "Where's your father?"

I paused, trying to remember what happened to my father, but all I drew was a blank. "… I guess… I guess I've never had a father," I admitted to him. "For as long as I remember, it's been just me and my mom living together. She raised me all by herself. I think..."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," he consoled. "Your mom must be pretty amazing."

"Yes," I said with a smile and a nod, "she truly is amazing."

The attention of my friend shifted to a door that was partially open. "What's this?" he wondered out loud, opening the door. He gasped with excitement. "Neat! Is this your room?"

I looked into the room in question. Lindbergh was right, the room that he found was my old room. Everything was still in place, just as I remembered it. The only thing that changed was the calendar.

"Wait a minute…" I was beginning to realize something. "Lindbergh, how long was I in the hospital?"

The kiwi looked at the calendar. "About a month, maybe?" he replied. "And that's probably more, depending on the time I was hired to help fix you. Why do you ask?"

"I want to know if I missed graduation or not," I told him, rummaging around in the drawers of my desk for the written speech that I had prepared.

"I'm sorry, Michael, but school let out about a long time ago."

Lindbergh helped me up off the floor after I had sunk to my knees in shock. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I could not believe it. That lab accident didn't just hurt me physically, but academically as well. Without graduating from high school, I couldn't go onto college and earn a degree. As if things weren't already bad enough…

The sound of a throat clearing made me turn my head. Something had caught his eye. "Michael… there's something I think you should know…" My companion grabbed a newspaper from the top of my desk and held the title up for me to read.

"Local High School Student Lost in Explosion" was one of the headlines.

"They think that you're dead," Lindbergh said to me.

I sat down on my old bed as I let all of the information sink in. No… it couldn't be possible, they couldn't think that I was dead.

"And… the hospital could only get so much information out of you," my friend confessed, sitting down beside me. "That's why they called you John Doe. I'm sorry, Michael."

My answer to him didn't come right away. I was in a deep state of disbelief. Everyone thought I was dead, the hospital only knew my first name, I hadn't graduated from high school, and to top it all off, I had been turned into a cybernetic being for the remainder of my life.

Lindbergh patted me on the shoulder. "You want me to leave you alone right now?" he questioned.

I mumbled something to him that had hardly any meaning whatsoever, even to me. I lied down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling and pondering the events that had happened. Lindbergh ended up sitting at the foot of my bed, offering his condolences until I couldn't hear them anymore.

~o~o~

I must've fallen asleep sometime later, because next thing I knew, Lindbergh was shaking me awake. "Michael, wake up," he whispered to me. "Your mom's home."

Immediately, I sat up in bed. "Mom?" I repeated.

"Yeah," the kiwi said quietly. "I don't think she saw me, but she might suspect that something's up! Didn't you say that you wanted to see her again?"

I looked down at my hands, pondering my options. I did want to see her again, but how would she react? Would she be happy to see me alive, or would she reject me?

"Here she comes!" Lindbergh warned, scurrying back from checking outside my room door.

I moved to do something, but I wasn't sure what to do. I thought to myself, Should I hide, or should I do something else like-?

"Who's there?" a female voice called out in slight alarm.

I froze in place. I didn't know what else to do but to meet Mom face to face.

Footsteps were heard coming closer to the room until they came to a halt. It was at this time that I turned myself around to face the doorway.

"… Mom?" I questioned almost wordlessly, stepping closer to her.

She backed away out of confusion and fear. "Who are you?" my mother asked in a voice above a whisper. "How did you get in here?"

"Mom, it's me," I told her, "your son, Michael."

My mom had a look of disbelief. "… no," she finally said after regaining her train of thought. "This can't be happening. They told me you were…"

"I'm alive, Mother," I said to her, coming closer. "Please… give me a chance to explain myself."

"They said that... that you were lost in the explosion! Why should I believe you!?"

"Mom!" I didn't like raising my voice, but she was acting a bit hysterical. She had every right to, of course, but I still wanted to make her see that it was really her son talking to her. "If I offer a piece of knowledge that only the real Michael Lloyd Scott would know, would you hear me out?"

"Lloyd?" Mom repeated, her voice hushed.

I was busy searching my memory banks for anything that would make her see the truth. "When I was younger, I... I made that imaginary friend. The shape-shifter? What was his name-?"

A hand stopped me from continuing. My mother nodded, removed her hand and asked me to explain things.

Tears formed in my mother's eyes out of a mix of emotions as I began to tell my story to her. She seemed confused and upset, like she couldn't believe what was happening.

"… and then Lindbergh and I came here so that you would know that I was all right, Mom," I finished in a comforting voice. "I wanted you to know that I was alive and well, that's all."

My mother cried as she hugged me in happiness. "My baby," she said through the tears. "I… I can't believe this. It's like you've come back from the dead."

A warm smile came upon my face as I hugged her back. "I know, Mom," I told her. "It's been difficult for me to believe all of this as well."

Neither of us spoke for a while. We were just so glad to see each other again after all that we've been through that we couldn't think of more words to speak.

"Awww…"

I turned to see a sniffling Lindbergh watching us, a tissue box close at hand. He stared back at us in surprise when he found out that we were looking at him. Clearing his throat, the kiwi went over to my mother and presented her with the tissue box. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Michael's Mom," he said in a friendly voice. "Need a tissue?"

"It's nice to meet you too, Lindbergh," Mom replied, a warm smile on her face. "Thank you for helping my son."

The bird blushed (though it was hard to tell with the feathers in the way). "Aw, it was nothing, Mrs. S," my friend said back. "Anything for a friend, really."

I smiled as I observed my mother and my friend as they chatted with each other. They were getting along just well for two people who've just met. It seemed as if they were old friends by the time the chat started to wind down.

Good thing too, since I had just remembered an important matter that was needed to be discussed. "Mom, what'll I do now that I'm… like this?" I asked her.

"Sweetie," she said to me, "you'll be fine. I know it pains me to say this, but… now that you've finished your schooling, I think it's time that you live on your own."

Since everyone in town thought I was deceased, that meant that I had to go to a different city, possibly a different state, to begin my new life. "But… that means I might never see you again."

Mom held back more tears. "Michael… it's just like I've always tell you: You can do it. You just have to believe in yourself."

I was choked up at this point. "I just got back, Mom," I told her. "I don't want to leave now."

"And what if you stayed?" Mom sat back down on my bed, trying to compose herself. "Honey... as much as I'm so overjoyed that you're back, not everyone will know how to react to you now. I don't even know if I can take watching you..." She bit her lip. "Michael, I only want what's best for you. Even if it means leaving..."

I glanced away, away from her nearly-quivering form and over to framed pictures of how things used to be. She was right. I wasn't the same boy the townspeople used to know. I had changed, transformed against my will into some horrifying creature (to most people) that would have me ran out of town even the moment that I tried to tell them who I really was...

A feathered hand patted me on the back. "Hey, it'll be all right," the owner of the wing told me. "Besides, I'll be with you."

"I'm sure you and Lindbergh will be fine," my mother said, a few stray tears rolling down her cheeks.

I hugged my mother again. "I promise to write when I can," I told her, trying to prevent the tears from flowing. "When I remember, at least."

"Promise me you'll be okay," she said back, looking at me straight into the eyes.

Trying to keep from crying myself (if I even still had tear ducts then), I looked back at her. "I promise, Mom."

Those were some of the last words I ever said to her. After that, Mother and Lindbergh helped me pack my things and loaded them in the back seat of my friend's car. I hugged my mother one last time before getting into the car, driving off into the sunset and leaving behind the life I once knew so I could begin a new life.

Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

After we left my home, we traveled for quite a while. We occasionally took some side-stops for some photo opportunities, but our only main stops were for food, gasoline, and sleep. (Both of us slept out in the car to save money for the former two items until one night, when I malfunctioned from chills so badly that we had to check in to an actual place where we could sleep.) Other than that, we drove on the open road by daylight, determined to find a place to live (or possibly a college I could attend; Lindbergh had also expressed the idea of getting a degree in electrical engineering to help out with my circuitry repairs).

It was during one of our stops at a diner that I started to feel a little homesick. Even though it had only been about a week since we had left, I was concerned about my mother and her safety. As much as I had wanted to stay with her, I knew that there was no other choice but to move on.

Lindbergh and I were seated in a booth, waiting for the waitress to come by with our orders. I was staring out the window, watching the cars go by. As I thought about my troubles, I let out a sigh.

My companion must've heard the sigh (obviously; he was sitting right across from me), because he immediately spoke to me afterwards. "Something wrong, Michael?" he asked.

"I don't know, Lindbergh," I said to him. "It's just that… well…"

The kiwi nodded, understanding my problems. "You miss your mom, don't you?"

I swallowed something that was in my throat before responding to him. "… yes," I confessed, looking down at my hands, "very much so."

"Aw, don't worry too much about her, Michael," my friend said to me. "You've got the rest of your life ahead of you. Besides, it's natural to get homesick every once in a while."

"I know that, Lindbergh," I addressed to him, hardly looking up, "but I think that this is an extreme case of something, if not homesickness."

"Michael," the kiwi began, "it's okay if you're like this right now. You've just left your home, you've been through who knows how much, and you have a lot of things on your mind right now. You probably feel that the whole weight of the world is on your shoulders now, am I right?"

"Something like that, yes," I responded. "Plus, I want to find a college to go to so that I can at least get a passable job."

"Career?"

"Yes, that."

"Well, whatever happens," Lindbergh continued, "I want you to remember one thing."

It was then that I looked up at him. "What's that?" I asked.

My friend smiled at me. "I want you to know that you'll always have a friend in me."

I gave a small smile back, pondering my companion's words. Out of all the people I knew, he was the only one other than my mother who treated me like I was still normal in appearance and not like I was an experiment out of a science-fiction film. In all honesty, he was the first true friend that I ever had. "Thank you, Lindbergh."

"Blasted TV," I heard a man say before he stood up.

"So, do you feel better?" Lindbergh asked with a smile.

"Why yes," I answered, "but I still have a funny feeling in me that won't go away…"

"Wonder what it is," the kiwi commented.

Around that time, the man started to change the channels on the TV. Right at that moment, I started to glitch up a bit.

"And now for the forecast of the week," I began before I started to sing. "_Sunday, Monday, happy days! Tuesday Wednesday- Sunny day! Sweepin' the clouds away!_ Lucy, I'm home! Book 'em, Danno!"

Little did I know (as well as I later learned from Lindbergh explaining things to me) that some of the patrons of the restaurant were giving me odd looks. Fortunately, the channel-changing came to rest on a broadcast of "Hello, Dolly!" "… and one more thing: we are not coming back to Yonkers until we have each kissed a girl."

"Guess it was a glitch after all," I heard Lindbergh say. "I should fix that soon." He paused. "But why do you want to kiss a girl?"

"I'm twenty-eight and three-quarters," I answered him, influenced by the broadcast. "I got to begin some time." In actuality, I was around 19 or so.

"Well, I'm a plumber," my friend replied. "I thought I could meet girls any time I wanted to."

"Here you go, boys," a female voice said. It was the waitress, but in my glitches state I mistook her for the title character from the movie.

"Mrs. Levi," I said, slightly surprised.

The waitress raised an eyebrow. "Uh yeah. You're orders are here."

"Oh goody!" Lindbergh softly exclaimed.

"We were only talking," I told her, trying to cover up for my friend and myself.

"Right," the waitress said. "Now, unless these are your orders, I could probably send them back to the kitchen to exchange them for your actual meals."

"What ladies?" I asked her, still in tune with Michael Crawford's character.

"Okay, kid, you're freaking me out," the waitress said to me.

"Okay, here's a cheeseburger with no onions…" She set the plate in front of me.

"Irene Malloy?" I repeated.

"The name's Babs." The waitress rolled her eyes before handing Lindbergh his order. "You put up with this guy?" she asked him.

"Oh, he's just glitching," the kiwi explained to her.

"… your orders cost $9.95," the waitress told both of us, "and you can pay before you leave." She left the table herself, muttering something under her breath about "weirdos".

I had a look of surprise on my face. "A millinery shop," I stated.

"Why are you talking about a hat shop?" Lindbergh questioned before starting to eat.

"Adventure, Barnaby," I said again, my voice growing in excitement.

"It's Lindbergh, actually," my friend said, concern in his voice.

"Living, Barnaby!" I exclaimed.

"Who's Barnaby? I'm not Barnaby!" the kiwi stated, concerned about my well-being.

"Will ya come, Barnaby?" I asked him.

"I'm already traveling with you," "Barnaby" answered. "Of course, I'll come!"

"The lights of Broadway!" I exclaimed, stepping onto the table. "Elevated trains! The stuffed whale at Barnum's museum!"

"Wow, I didn't know that they had a stuffed whale there," Lindbergh said before he continued to eat. "We should go there sometime. New York sounds nice around this time of year."

"Let's get dressed, Barnaby," I told him, "we're going to New York!"

"We are?" my friend asked, nearly finished with his meal.

I answered him by singing. _"Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers. Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby… there's a slick town, Barnaby. Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle. Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby. Listen, Barnaby…"_

"I'm listening, Michael," "Barnaby" told me, "but all I can hear is you singing along with the TV-_oh,_ I think I know what's going on now._"_

_"Put on your Sunday clothes, There's lots of world out there!"_ I sang again, getting up from the table. _"Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars."_

"But neither of us smoke," the kiwi reminded me.

_"We're gonna find adventure in the evening air,"_ I continued to sing, hardly hearing my friend over the music. _"Girls in white in a perfumed night where the lights are bright as the stars!"_

"It sounds fancy!" Lindbergh commented.

_"Put on your Sunday clothes, we're gonna ride through town,"_ I continued, glad that my friend was getting into it, i_"in one of those new horsedrawn open cars!"_

"Yeah!" my friend exclaimed before joining me in singing the rest of the verse. _"We'll see the shows at Delmonico's, and we'll close the town in a whirl. And we won't come until we've kissed a girl!"_

I was surprised, but not too startled, to hear Babs the waitress sing as well. _"Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,"_ she sang. _"Strut down the street and have your picture took. Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about. That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!"_

A female customer and her male friend joined in and started to sing with her. _"Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile that makes you feel brand new down to your toes!"_

Lindbergh and I joined them in song. _"Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows,"_ we sang. _"For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday clothes!"_

Then, all the diner seemed to come to life with the sound of music. _"Put on your __Sunday clothes when you feel down and out. Strut down the street and have your picture took."_

_"Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,"_ Babs sang as she led us in the verse. _"That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!"_

_"Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile,"_ the waitresses and female customers sang.

_"That makes you feel brand new down to your toes,"_ we all sang. _"Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!"_

After that verse, all the patrons and employees started to dance, including Lindbergh and myself. I was actually surprised by my own dance skills, considering that I've hardly danced before.

_"Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,"_ the children in the diner sang. _"Strut down the street and have your picture took."_

_"Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,"_ the women sang.

_"That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!"_ we all sang. _"Beneath your bowler brim the world's a simple song, a lovely lilt that makes you tilt your nose. Get out your slickers, your flannel knickers, your red suspenders and hose. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!"_

"Modulate, everybody!" someone shouted.

_"Put on your Sunday clothes there's lots of world out there,"_ everyone in the diner sang. _"Put on your silk cravat and patent shoes. We're gonna find adventure in the evening air."_

_"To town we'll trot to a smokey spot where the girls are hot as a fuse!"_ Babs sang out, mainly addressing my companion and I.

"Wow!" all of us exclaimed before we continued to sing. _"Put on your silk high hat and at the turned up cuff. We'll wear a hand made gray suede buttoned glove."_

_"We wanna take New York by storm!"_ Babs took the solo as Lindbergh and I were happily going along with it, dancing towards the front of the diner.

_"We'll join the Astors at Tony Pastor's and this I'm positive of,"_ everyone sang. _"That we won't come home…"_

Lindbergh gave the cashier a ten-dollar bill to pay for our meals. _"No we won't come home…"_

The two of us then danced to the door and finished the song. _"No we won't come home until we fall in love!"_

The door closed behind us, leaving the two of us outside the diner.

"Wow, that was fun," the kiwi commented to me, walking to the car. "Everyone seemed really into it! You know, New York does sound like fun, Michael. We should go there sometime."

"Adventure, Barnaby!" I exclaimed, sitting on the hood of the automobile.

"Oh yeah," Lindbergh remembered, "you have a glitch." He went to get his tool belt out of the car and then dragged me to the back seat. "This will only take a few minutes, Michael."

That's all I remember hearing before I shut down.

~o~o~

When I woke up, we were on the road again. Lindbergh was listening to the radio while driving.

I tapped my friend on the shoulder. "Lindbergh, why was I dreaming that I was in a musical?" I asked him, puzzled.

"Long story, Michael," the kiwi answered. "I'll tell you all about it later."


	8. Chapter 8

As much fun as falling in love and kissing a girl had sounded at the time, I was too devoted to my studies to pursue such an idea. Besides, based on my past experiences with romance, I wasn't exactly what people might call a ladies' man. The accident made my love life even worse… Come to think of it, up until a certain series of events in the 1980s, I never really had much of a love life to begin with...

Anyway, Lindbergh and I were searching for a college for both of us to attend. We roamed from town to town in the car for weeks, looking for a college to accept me (as well as traveling from whatever job to job Lindbergh might have gotten along the way). So far, we hadn't found any that would accept a… person with my condition. Preferably, they also were looking for an applicant who wasn't officially confirmed dead or missing. As well as someone who's appearance almost immediately didn't make the secretary call security. Or someone without too noticeable of an avian ancestry.

"Lindy," I remarked to him one day, "with my kind of design, I belong in a technical institute instead of a regular college."

"I think they could use you on the science force, Michael," my friend told me, hardly taking his eyes off of the TV he was repairing. "Besides, I think that the space race is really getting big now. Hand me the screwdriver, will ya?"

Indeed, I had heard much about the race to space growing up. Ever since I was younger, I had always dreamed of working as a scientist for NASA, helping figure out more efficient ways to launch our astronauts into space and what experiments would work up there. To tell the truth, I was also fascinated with the unknown, and outer space had definitely captured my imagination, wonder, and interst. But if not that field of interest, I was always open in other studies relating to similar fields.

"Yes, I know that," I said to Lindbergh, handing him the aforementioned screwdriver and peering over his shoulder as I watched him work. "I wonder if there are any technical institutes nearby..."

Shrugging, he responded, "Who knows? We'll just have to keep looking." With that, he finished screwing in the last screw for the back of the repaired TV. "And, done! All finished with the repairs, Mister Gold!" he chipperly announced, lifting his head.

"Thank you, boys," the elderly gentleman said, reaching for his cane as he stood up from his arm chair. "I'll be sure to pay you both for graciously helping me with that blasted thing. I don't understand it myself. It's been running great all this time, and yet one day it refuses to cooperate."

"You're just lucky we happened to be passing through," Lindbergh noted with a nod, moving the TV set back into place. "I had another job here in town, so things seemed to work out perfectly, didn't they?"

Mr. Gold nodded. "Indeed. Now, forgive me if I'm prying..." He turned to face the both of us. "But I couldn't help but overhear you two talking about getting into a college? A technical institute, your friend said."

Lindbergh and I glanced between each other. "Well..." he began.

"It's complicated," I explained. "I had a university already lined up, but due to certain events, I'm not able to attend."

There was a bit of a pause hanging in the air before the man nodded again in understanding. "Fortunately for you gentlemen," he calmly spoke, "I happen to be... acquainted, let's say, with a staff member at such an institution in a town nearby. You two seem to be in dire need of attending a college, from what I've heard, so..." A slight smile pulled on his face. "How's about I write you boys a letter of reccomendation and schedule for you to meet my acquaintence?"

My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, not being able to believe it. "You would do that for us? Oh, thank you sir!" I joyfully began shaking his hand out of gratitude. "If there's anything we could ever-"

"Ah!" He held his hand up to stop me short. "You already did. So, in return for fixing my TV, I owe you."

"Wow! Helping us out with a college for fixing a TV! What they can't pay you with these days," Lindbergh said in awe. "You just tell us if you need anything else to be fixed again, and we'll be happy to help!"

"I'll keep that in mind, erm..." Mr. Gold paused and looked at us, confused as to what our names were.

"Lindbergh Kiwi," the kiwi filled him in. "And this is-"

"Scott," I said. "Erm, that's my last name though. My first name... erm..." I was a bit uncomfortable telling him my first name, especially since using my name with the other universities had gotten me a lot of questioning as to if it were a joke or if I had faked a death.

Mr. Gold sighed. "John Scott it is, then," he concluded. I gave him a sheepish smile. Oh well, it would have to do.

Nodding, I agreed. "Thank you again."

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Mister!" Lindbergh thanked him, packing up his toolset.

"Don't mention it," Mr. Gold replied, a smile on his place. "I'll be sure to get you directions to the Jack Haley Technical Institute."

My friend saluted as he continued to pack up up. I turned to him and gave a shy smile. "Thank you so much," I thanked him again. "But, if I may ask you a question?"

"Go right ahead."

"Why are you helping us?"

The elder man let out a light chuckle. "Well Michael, let's just say that I know how to recognize a desperate soul."

~o~o~

After making all the arrangements, Mr. Gold sent us on our way with what we needed to get us there: food, directions, gas, the letters of reccomendation, and a nod. We never saw or heard from him again.

I held out a map for my friend to look at as he drove. I could hardly believe it. There I was, thinking that I wouldn't get an education, and the opportunity of my lifetime was in the next town. It was a dream come true.

"Michael, you got your portfolio with you?"

The words of my comrade hardly reached my ears. I was too busy imagining what it would be like to finally work for NASA and to live my dream of being included in scientific history. It was remarkable. It was energizing, it was wonderful. It was-

"Michael! We're almost there!"

Finally, my mind was brought back to reality with the help of my flightless friend. "Um, thank you for telling me that, Lindbergh," I thanked him.

"Aw, it's no trouble, Michael," he replied. "Just didn't want you to be so quiet anymore, so…"

"Found it!" I had been rummaging through my things, trying to find my portfolio to present to the college.

Lindbergh parked the car in the parking lot of the institute and helped me out of the car, the letters in his wings. "Well, Michael," he stated, "this is it."

All I could do was nod at my friend's comment. This was it, my big chance-no, what _we_ could do to show them all that we could be accepted into society, get a college-leveled education, and earn a job.

Naturally, I was nervous about everything.

"Lindbergh, what if they don't accept me?" I asked him, a hint of doubt in my voice. They would accept Lindbergh, no problem. What if they turned me down because I was… different?

The kiwi patted me on the back. "You'll do fine, Michael," he said to me in a friendly manner, "I know you will."

I gave the plumber a small smile in return. "Thank you, Lindbergh," I replied.

"Anytime, Michael," he replied. "Now, let's get you accepted into that college."

"Right. You too." With that, both of us walked through the school doors and to the admission department office, never leaving the other's side.

There was a woman behind a desk typing on a typewriter. She seemed to be a secretary of sorts, so I knew that this must be the right place.

"Is this the administration office?" I asked the woman.

"Yes it is," she answered, glancing at me as she spoke.

"Are you holding interviews for students today?" Lindbergh asked. Oh, how I hoped they were…

"Why, yes," the woman said. "I'll go tell the interviewer you're here, Mr. …"

"Oh, we have an appointment," he continued. "A Mister Gold told us to come here and meet with a..." He glanced at the name on the envelope before showing it to the secretary.

She observed the envelopes before nodding to us. "Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi," she stated before going into another room.

I sat down beside Lindbergh in a chair, letting out a sigh of relief. That part was done.

"You'll do fine, Michael," my friend told me in a sing-song voice.

"Says you," I answered in the same manner.

After a while of waiting, the secretary motioned for me to go inside.

"Wish me luck," I whispered to my companion before standing up and walking into the interview room with my portfolio.

~o~o~

For confidentiality reasons, I won't go into great detail about the entire interview. To be honest, I can't really remember a thing. It was all so fuzzy. I think I was nervous, but I tried not to show it too much.

After the interview was over, it was Lindbergh's turn. I waited patiently until he returned and joined me on a bench outside the office, awaiting our results.

"I think that it went pretty well, actually," I confessed to the kiwi, trying to make small talk.

"You see? There was nothing to worry about, Michael," my friend said to me.

The conversation continued from there, but the talk was halted when the secretary came out of the office. "Congratulations, Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi," she told us. "You've been accepted into the campus."

I immediately stood up, joy filling my body, and shook her hand. "Oh, thank you, ma'am!" I thanked her. "Thank you so much!"

The woman chuckled a bit. "I'm sure that you and your friend will enjoy it here" were her last words that she spoke to me before she disappeared back into the office.

"The recommendations worked!" Lindbergh happily exclaimed.

"We're going to be roommates!" I added, a look of excitement on my face.

College was going to be great. Lindbergh and I had been accepted, I was going to get a higher-level of education, and my best friend would be with me through it all. I could hardly wait for the classes to start.


	9. Chapter 9

After we were admitted into the university, the college allowed us to move into a dorm in advanced. This, of course, meant that we finally had a steady home in a place where one could get an education. However, that accomodation didn't cover the holiday seasons. We would pretty much be on our own at that point. Our belongings combined wasn't enough to fill the dorm room, so naturally we had to go to town a lot to buy the essentials needed to make the dorm look more acceptable for living.

It was about one week until classes officially started and Lindbergh and I were in town running a few errands. One of our stops was the supermarket to pick up groceries.

"Okay, cereal?"

"Check." A few boxes of Frosted Flakes and Cheerio's went into the shopping cart that Lindbergh was pushing.

"Bread."

"Check." A loaf of bread came to rest inside the cart

"Tomatoes and lettuce?"

"Double check." The produce items were placed into the basket.

"Water bottles."

I did a double take at my friend. "Are you sure I can handle water, Lindbergh?" I asked him. "You and I both know that I'll short-circuit if too much water gets into my system."

"I know. I was just testing you, Michael," the kiwi told me as we made our way to the different aisles. He paused. "I mean, John. Sheesh, it's gonna be hard calling you that from now on."

Out of my new alias as John Scott arose new problems. I myself was trying to distance myself far away from the accident and anything possibly leaking out that the same college-bound student who had the name supposedly died the same day "I" was found unconscious. Poor Lindbergh was trying his hardest, but the name change was something he had never gotten the hang of. He told me that the name John didn't suit me. In fact, according to him, I didn't even look like a Michael. ("No offense," he had apologized.)

"One thing's for sure, I'll have enough testing to do when classes start," I remarked, a slight chuckle in my voice.

"You and me both, but you know what they say," my friend told me as he was putting a jar of pickles into the cart, "the mind never sleeps."

"Indeed," I replied in agreement. "Mine also picks up radio and television signals that keep me up sometimes at nights."

"Wow, the hospital must've went a little overboard," Lindbergh commented, heading towards the checkout line.

I nodded, trying to think of what the hospital must've used to reconstruct my brain. TV cables, antennae… maybe it was something to do with my hair?

As I was pondering all of this, I noticed a flyer on the message board and went to check it out. I grabbed the flyer off the board and read it silently to myself. "Come see the Solid Foam at the Groundling Café. Enjoy the music while you relax. Donations are accepted."

"Hey, Lindbergh," I said to my friend while walking over to him, "take a look at this." I handed him the flyer.

"The Groundling Café, huh?" Lindbergh read in amusement. "Sounds like some sort of coffee shop." He looked at me. "Maybe we should go there sometime."

"How about dinner tonight?" I suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," the kiwi agreed, picking up a few sacks of groceries. "Now come on, let's load these into the back of the car."

~o~o~

That night, after everything had been unloaded, the two of us drove into town to the Groundling Café for dinner. I was more curious about the band that was playing there than Lindbergh was, but that didn't matter between us. Besides, we needed some reason to celebrate the beginning of the school year, anyway.

The waitress seated us at our table and took our orders before departing. I was searching around with my eyes for the band that was supposed to be at the café, but so far, I found no musicians.

"Where are they?" I muttered to myself.

"Where are who, Mic-John?" my friend asked, puzzled and catching himself.

Not expecting my friend to have heard me, I gave him a confused look in return.

"Who are you looking for?" Lindbergh asked again. "Do you know someone here?"

I shrugged. "Not really." Before I could answer him any further, the waitress came with our refreshments and treats (although I thought I specifically asked Lindbergh not to order me coffee or a mocha or any type of drink). Despite what it might've done to my system if I consumed it, I picked up one of the cups of coffee and decided to make a toast. "Here's to four or more years of successful college classes," I said to my friend.

"Here's to our continuing friendship," the kiwi toasted back.

"To the future," we both agreed. We clinked our cups (or the closest to clinking two coffee cups together) and started to consume the beverages.

At that very moment, a wail of a saxophone sounded throughout the restaurant and all of the patrons, including Lindbergh and myself, turned their heads towards the small stage.

On that stage, what I assumed to be the members of the Solid Foam band were playing a song. There were four performing musicians when I first saw the band: a lead guitarist, a bass guitarist, a saxophonist, and a drummer.

How can I describe the people that would become my future bandmates by relying on my first impression of them?

To be honest, when I first saw them perform, I thought that they were … a pretty diverse group. I hadn't seen any other group like them beforehand, and I probably will never know another one like them.

The bearded lead guitarist looked like he was in his early- to mid-20s with a laid-back, country feel to him. The bass guitarist, also in his early- to mid-20s, was a purple catfish-like creature who wore sunglasses. The saxophonist looked young, probably not even out of high school yet (if even that), but he could play like a professional. The drummer, who appeared to be around the same age as the saxophone player, was also the only female member in the group.

The band played their best for the crowd that night. I could see that they were doing excellent in performance, but it seemed as if they were missing something. Perhaps they needed a musician to join the group? Maybe they had a member that was out with an illness. But wait, if that were so, why not just replace them?

Some of the crowd clapped following the end of their performance, and Lindbergh and I were among them.

"Wow, they sure are good," the kiwi said to me.

"Yes," I agreed with him, "I've never seen a group like them before."

"I think that's because this is the first band that you've ever seen up close and personal before, M-John," Lindbergh told me. "I don't blame you. I've never been in one of these coffee shops before, especially one with a band."

I couldn't help but agree with him. Even before the accident, I hadn't been invited to see a band or musician perform in concert.

"Hey, here's an idea," my friend said with an air of confidence after the band had performed a few songs. "Why don't we go meet them?"

Lindbergh must've gotten to known me really well during our short time together, because he just read my mind. "Exactly," I replied. "Let's go right now."

So the two of us went from our table over to the area where the band was taking a break. Out of the two of us, I was the most intrigued about meeting the band. I excitedly sauntered towards their table…

… and tripped over a cord that I hadn't noticed before I could reach the group.

"Hey man, you okay?" a voice of one of the members asked me, most possibly belonging to the guitarist.

"I… think so," I wearily replied, standing up with Lindbergh's help.

"Good, because it looks like you might need a little bit more help the way you're going," the purple bass player said to me.

"As if I don't have that much troubles already," I told him.

The young saxophonist mumbled out a sentence.

"What did he say?" I asked the band.

The bassist spoke up again. "He said that you gave him a little scare when you fell, Robot Man."

They had already noticed my most prominent feature, but they were talking to me like I was a normal person. That was a good sign.

"Hey, you got a name?" the man with the beard asked.

I realized that I had not introduced myself yet. "Oh, excuse me for not mentioning it in the first place," I apologized. "My name is Michael-I mean, John!" Darn it, now I was messing up. "John Scott, that is my name, and this is my friend Lindbergh."

"Hello!" the kiwi greeted.

"We watched you guys perform," I explained. "You all sound pretty good."

"Thanks," the female drummer spoke up.

"Always great to meet a new fan," the lead guitarist stated. "Friends call me Beard," he said, extending a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Beard," I said in return, shaking his hand.

"I'm Clifford, the group's residential bass player and all-around cool person," the purple man introduced himself. "Nice to meet ya, MJ."

"Nice to meet you too," I replied with a confused smile. "MJ?" I mouthed to him.

He shrugged. "For Michael-John. That's Flash," Clifford said, motioning over to the young (not-even-really-in) high school student. "He plays the sax."

The saxophonist, now known as Flash (a nickname, I would later learn; I'm still not entirely sure of his real first name), nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he started out saying before he mumbled a sentence again.

"He's been playing since he was a kid," the bassist explained. "Not even in high school yet, and he's got the chops to play just about anything."

"Oh," I answered, nodding in agreement. "He's pretty talented."

Flash mumbled a "thank you" to me.

"And last but not least, there's Francine," Clifford concluded, waving a hand towards the drummer.

"I could've introduced myself on my own, Clifford," the girl stated with a chuckle, leaning forward a bit in her chair.

"Yeah," the bass player went on, "she's cool. Anyway, Franny's our drummer, and Flash's girlfriend."

"Not my girlfriend!/Don't call me Franny!" the two high school students exclaimed at the same time.

Both Beard and Clifford got a good chuckle out of that. "Nah, they're just really close," Beard told me.

"Oh, okay," I said, nodding my head.

"Hey, do you guys live around here?" Lindbergh asked the band.

"Flash and I go to school in the next town over," Francine answered, "and Beard and Clifford live in some apartment complex in the city."

"Yeah," Clifford agreed. "It's not much, but it's home."

"What about you?" Beard asked my friend and I.

"Oh, we're going to high scho- college, I mean," I corrected myself, "at the Jack Haley Technical Institute."

"Uh huh," the kiwi said. "We live in the dorm building."

"A college man," the bass player said with a nod. "Good luck with classes next week, man."

"Thank you for the support," I thanked the band.

"No trouble at all," Beard replied, writing something down on a piece of paper.

"You'll need all the help you can get," the drummer added. "At least that's what's Flash's brothers have said. We really don't know what it's like yet."

"Hey man," Clifford spoke up, "if you're ever in a jam, like if you got no place to go for the holidays, just give us a call."

Beard gave me the piece of paper that he wrote on. "Here's the address, telephone numbers, and apartment numbers that Cliff and I live at," he said. "You can come over at any time."

My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, bewildered by the offer. "Why, that's very nice of you both."

"Now we have a place to go when the dorms close for the holidays!" Lindbergh added excitedly.

"It's cool," Clifford answered. "We're always hip to help a fella out."

"Tell that to our bills," Beard nearly deadpanned before laughing.

That reminded Lindbergh of his idea of opening a side business to help pay our way through college. While he was questioning Beard and Clifford about that, I felt a nudge on my shoulder. Turning, I saw the saxophonist.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Greetings," I said with a smile. At least being friendly with the two... closest to what my age was then was an option?

The dark-haired girl sitting next to Flash nodded a greeting. "So... you're a robot," she said.

"No, only partially, but I'm still getting used to it," I explained to them. "It hasn't been all easy so far..."

Flash and Francine looked at each other, then at me, then at each other, and then back to me again. "What'd you say your name was?" Flash asked. "Scott?"

"No, it was Michael," Francine said.

"Johnny?" another voice spoke up, poking me in the shoulder.

"Lindbergh?"

"I thought that was his name," the guitarist said, correcting me.

Clifford didn't say a word, only looking at us from over his shades before shaking his head. "Anyhoo, you two hip dudes ever get in a jam, Beard an' I'll help bail you out. You're all right in my book."

The band members spoke and nodded in agreement.

"They like you, John," my friend whispered to me. For once, he had gotten it right. Still, it didn't feel right.

But what he had said was true. Even though I was different than most people, here was a group who accepted me for who I was. I knew that the people in the group would be my friends, just like Lindbergh had been.

"Well... thank you very much," I stated, nearly speechless.

"You know, you don't look much of a... John Michael whatever," Beard commented. "Sounds sort of like an analogue name."

A few chuckles arose from the others as I stared at them quizically. Analogue? Were they comparing me to a TV set? I might be able to be repaired like one at times, but I knew that I definitely wasn't a TV set.

"Man's got a point, though," Clifford spoke up. "You're more of a digital guy rather than an analogue."

"Digital," I repeated. "Right..."

"Digital..." That voice came from Lindbergh, who appeared as if he was also pondering something. "Has a nice ring to it. Digit-Al."

Opening my motuh at first, I paused, trying to replay it in my head a few times. Digital. Digit-al. Digit Al. Digit-

"Forget the Al! Maybe we should call you Digit from now on," Beard said with a laugh.

"Digit," I repeated, thinking about the name. A smile crept up onto my face. "I like the sound of that," I told the band and Lindbergh.

"I like it, too," Lindbergh agreed.

"All right, then," Clifford concluded. "From now on, we'll call you Digit."

Before that conversation had even ended, I received a new name (one that I would use full-heartedly now) and a wonderful group of new friends. I could tell already that my life was going to go great from then on.


	10. Chapter 10

My new name proved to be more fitting than I thought it would. Not only was I a "digital" man (according to the Solid Foam members), but my progress in my classes showed me that I was a technological wizard in my own right. I continued to amaze my teachers, friends, and even myself by the way I could easily complete assignments.

"Gee, Digit," Lindbergh commented one day after classes had been going on for four weeks, "at this rate, you'll be working for NASA for sure!"

"You really think so?" I asked him while I was studying for a test that was coming up the next day.

"Sure, at the rate you're going," my friend encouraged me. "I hope you do well on that test tomorrow."

"Thank you, Lindbergh," I said, giving the kiwi a friendly smile. "I'll do my best."

"And that's the best you can do," the plumber completed. "Why, you can even do more than your best if you try hard enough."

With a nod, I went back to studying for the test.

The next day, I caught up with Lindbergh at lunch after the testing was over to have a conversation with him.

"Lindbergh, do you remember when we met Solid Foam?" I asked him.

"You mean Beard, Clifford, Flash and Francine?" my kiwi friend replied.

"Yes, that's it."

"Sure I do." Lindbergh paused to take a bite out of his sandwich. "Why do you bring that time up?" he questioned after he swallowed.

"Well…" I didn't know whether or not he'd believe me about what I was going to say, but he was my friend and I trusted him. "I've been thinking…"

"About what?"

"Back to the first time we met the band," I continued, "I couldn't help but notice that they were missing something."

The plumber stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean, Digit?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "It's like they needed an extra member to join them for their careers to really take off."

"Really?" Lindbergh spoke up in a semi-confused, semi-knowing voice.

I nodded in response. "In fact, Lindbergh…" I took a moment to prepare for what I was going to say next. "Last night, I had a dream that I joined the band."

My friend's eyes widened in mid-bite. "You did?" he asked in awe.

"Yes," I answered him. "In fact, I think it might even be a sign."

"How?" the kiwi quizzically responded.

"You know how you said the other day that I needed involvement with a group of people?" I told him. "I think this might be my chance to show them that I can belong in a group."

"That's really neat and all, Digit," Lindbergh commented. "Actually, when I said that, I was meaning that you should join a club or something. Besides, I didn't know whether or not you played and instrument."

"I--" I stopped mid-sentence, realizing an important obstacle that seemed to prevent me from joining Solid Foam.

I could hardly play an instrument.

That afternoon, after my classes were over, Lindbergh and I drove into town until we found a music store. I was determined to find an instrument that I could know how to play and that would be of use to the band.

"What sort of instrument did you have in mind, Digit?" my friend asked me once we started to look around the shop.

"I'm not so sure," I told him, "but I'll probably know it when I see it." We then went our separate ways to search for an instrument.

I first made my way over to the brass instrument section. There were trumpets, tubas, and other brass instruments galore, but none of them felt right for me. Besides, whoever heard of a trumpet player in a rock band?

I stayed clear of the stringed instruments. Beard and Clifford were already covering the lead guitar and the bass, so they probably didn't need any more of those type of musicians.

I also discouraged myself from venturing to the percussion section. The only percussion instruments I could think of were the drums, and Francine was already the drummer of the band.

"May I help you?" the owner of the shop asked me.

"Why yes," I answered him. "You see, I'm looking for an instrument."

"Well then, you've come to the right place," he said to me. "Welcome to Radice's Music Shop! I'm the owner, Mark Radice."

He seemed like a friendly fellow that knew what he was talking about. I was sure that he could help me. "Thank you for the welcome, Mr. Radice."

"Please," he said, "call me Mark. Now, what seems to be your problem?"

"Well, Mark," I told him, "I want to join a band, but I'm not quite sure which instrument I should play."

"We just need to narrow it down by what type of band you'll be joining," Mark explained. "Jazz, swing, rhythm and blues…"

"A rock band, actually," I told him. "I'm planning on joining a group called Solid Foam."

"Solid Foam, you say?" the owner of the store repeated, his eyebrows lifting.

"Well yes," I answered, surprised that he had heard of them. "Do you know them?"

"Know them?" The man chuckled. "They're some of my best customers. Why, just last week, I sold Flash some reeds for his sax. They also told me about their new friend. Robotic man, pretty nice." He looked me over. "You're Digit, right?"

They even told him about me. "Why, yes I am."

"I thought so," Mark told me. "Come here, I think I know a good instrument for you." He led me to an area with all kinds of pianos.

While I looked around, I became confused as to why the store owner brought me over to the piano section. Even as a child, I wasn't exactly gifted with the ways of the keys. The few piano lessons that I had in sixth grade proved it.

Mark brought out two keyboards and set them up for me to play. "Try playing these," he said to me.

I stood between the set of instruments, staring at them. I knew I couldn't play them, especially after the accident. "Sir, I don't know if I--"

"You're a technological wizard, right?" he asked me. "That's what I've heard about you. Just try to play them this one time and see if it works for you."

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands over the keys of one of the keyboards. I was trying to convince myself to play them. _Come on, Digit, you can do this,_ I thought to myself. _Just think of it as… typing on a control panel_.

"Let's hope this works," I mumbled to myself before I closed my eyes and started to play the instrument.

I couldn't believe what happened next. There I was, playing the keyboards to the tune of a famous song by Elton John. Suddenly, it seemed as if all the band joined in: Beard on guitar, Clifford on bass, Francine on drums, and Flash singing the lead vocals. We were all playing in front of an audience of fans who screamed wildly as our saxophonist sang.

I was playing my heart out on the keyboards throughout the whole number. My efforts were rewarded when the crowd reacted to the ending of the song with thunderous applause. Right then I knew that this was my ticket into joining the band.

"Wow, that's great, Digit!"

The voice of my friend made me open my eyes and come back to reality. I saw Mark and Lindbergh, applauding for me.

"That was a really neat song," the kiwi commented. "'Crocodile Rock', right?"

I nodded in response. "Yes."

"You're a very good musician, Digit," Mark encouraged me. "The band will definitely accept you as a new member, I'm sure of it."

After we paid for one of the keyboards, the two of us (Lindbergh and I) drove over to the apartment complex where Beard and Clifford lived. We lugged the instrument upstairs and set it up once we were inside.

My audition for them went well and I was immediately placed into the band as the keyboard player. Everyone was excited about me joining, especially Lindbergh. He became our manager of sorts, picking out locations in nearby cities to play at and what time and date the performances were.

I'll never forget one of the first gigs that the band had with me as their newest member. It was a Saturday night, and the club was packed. All of us were playing our hearts out (or, in Flash's case, singing our hearts out) to a particular song called "Crocodile Rock." The performance was received with a great amount of applause.

That applause seemed to only encourage me more to stay with the band and to be a musician. After that day, all of our performances seemed like wonders to me.

The best part about it all was this: I finally found a group that I belonged in. A group that's so strong, we still keep in touch to this very day. And to think it all started with a single trip of a wire…


	11. Chapter 11

"_Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, jingle bell sing and jingle bell ring…_"

The melodic sounds of Christmas carols flowed from the radio and into our ears as we drove around the town in the month of December, looking for decorations and such. Since the campus was closed for the holidays, Lindbergh and I had taken temporary residence at Beard and Clifford's apartment. Flash and Francine's parents also allowed them to come over for the holidays, so we all thought that we could take a drive through town to see what we could find to add some Christmas spirit to the apartment.

Lindbergh, Flash, Francine and I were all together in the back seat of Clifford's car, with Clifford and Beard in the front two seats. The radio was on and we were conversing while the carols were playing.

"I love the holiday season," Lindbergh said. "Everyone's got a smile on their face and the whole world is truly in the Christmas spirit."

"Yeah," Beard agreed, "and the glitter of it all keeps selling every year." Everyone laughed at that comment.

The radio then switched over to "Jingle Bells". "How many versions of this song _are_ there?" Francine asked with a sigh.

"Hundreds, probably," I answered, trying to think of all the versions I've heard over the years. "I guess everyone's had their shot at it once in a while."

She shrugged. "Well, better that than--"

"Hey, everyone, guess what this song is," Clifford suddenly stated, interrupting Francine and launching all of us into a guessing game. All of us listened as he started to hum a semi-familiar tune.

The drummer was probably the first one to get it. "Oh no," she grumbled. "Clifford…"

The man in in question just kept on humming, a slight smile forming on his face.

Beard joined in with Clifford. "_Ba-dum-bum-bum-bum… Da na na na na na, ba-dum-bum-bum-bum…_"

It was at this point that Lindbergh discovered the song and started to sing along. "_To lay before the king, par-um-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum…_"

It was then I realized that the song we were trying to figure out was "The Little Drummer Boy". I decided to join in and harmonize with the three that were already singing. "_So to honor him, par-um-pum-pum-pum, when we come._"

At this point, our own drummer was resorting to burying her face in her hands while our bassist, guitarist, and even saxophonist busted out laughing. "Guys, you know I hate that song," she complained.

"Sorry, Fran," Clifford apologized the laughter, "but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"Hey, Clifford?"

"What?"

"Shut up," Francine told him, snatching the sunglasses off of the driver. "And I'm not giving them back until you stop singing and/or mentioning that song."

"Ha ha ha, very funny, Francine," Clifford retorted sarcastically before sighing. "Okay, I'm sorry about… you know what. Now give me back my shades, we're almost there."

The female drummer put on a triumphant grin and handed Clifford back his sunglasses as we pulled into the parking lot of the local Wal-Mart. Once inside, we decided to split up into small groups to cover more ground. Naturally, I was paired up with Lindbergh for the shopping trip. Our job was to get the lights for the tree and a some extra lights and displays for various places in the apartment.

"So what kind of lights do you have in mind, Digit?" my friend asked me as we made our way towards the Christmas lights.

"Well, we should probably get some white lights for the tree," I replied, "and then maybe some colored lights for the displays so that we could work with them a little bit more."

"All right." We then came across several boxes of Christmas lights with different lengths written on them. "Let's see… 'seven feet', 'eight feet', 'nine feet' 'twelve feet'…" Lindbergh turned to me. "You think eight is enough?" he asked.

"Considering that the tree has to fit inside the apartment, eight's plenty," I answered him.

"Okay," the kiwi said as he lifted the box up. "Now to find some multicolored ones for the displays." He glanced down at the heavy box of lights in his hands. "Hmm... maybe I should put this in a cart," he concluded.

"I believe there's still some up front," I told him. "Let's go see if we can grab one."

"Okay." The two of us then set off for the front of the store to get a shopping cart. "Hey Digit, did you ever have a tree growing up?" I was asked on the way up there.

"... well, yes," I replied to my feathered friend. "The tree was small, but it was just right for Mother and me." I felt myself smile as I remembered all the Christmases I had back in my old home with my mother. "Every year, we'd wrap presents for ourselves, neighbors, relatives, and close friends and store them under the tree until Christmas Day."

Lindbergh nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes. "My tree was small, too," he told me. "We didn't always have much under it, but we were all happy with what we had. My family used to make ornaments to go on the tree: popcorn balls, paper chains... little pictures of ourselves on hooks," my friend described to me.

"It sounds like a nice tree," I commented. "My mother and I made some ornaments every year, but we also bought some more to make the tree look more festive." A sigh escaped my throat as I remembered all the good times I had with my mom in my old home back in Illinois. "You know what they say, Lindbergh," I stated, trying to hide my homesickness as I pulled out a cart, "'There's no place like... home... for the holidays...'"

The bird placed the box in the cart before putting his arm around my shoulder. "Yes, but there's another saying about home, too," he said to me reassuringly, "'Home is where the heart is.' We're both together with a new family this year, even though we're not related to any of them."

I paused and considered my friend's words to me. Over the passing months, I had gone from living with my mother in Illinois, human and almost friendless, to a semi-robotic person in a Kansas town who was in a band, played an actual instrument, was going to college, and had a group of very close friends. Even though I still missed my mother, Lindbergh was correct in his comment. I did have a new extended family in this place, a family that I cared about and who cared about me back.

I managed to get a smile on my face. "Thank you, Lindbergh," I thanked him, "for being such a great friend."

"That's what friends do," the kiwi told me. "They stick together no matter what."

After getting the rest of the lights and a few displays, we ventured to the ornament section of the store to meet up with the others. From the looks of everyone, they seemed to have successfully gathered all the items that they were assigned to get and were ready to select more decorations for the tree. ("Why can't we just make our own ornaments?" I heard Lindbergh ask. "I've got this neat idea for decorating an old wrench that I have.")

As for myself, I had a special project in mind. Not only were Lindbergh and I working on the animated displays, I had planned to make an moving ornament to put on the tree. It was going to be perfect: the ornament would have the grace of a butterfly as it would dance around a snow-covered town to a beautiful Christmas carol…

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the appearance of a thickly clothed… animal, to give a generalization. All that was visible through the heavy clothing were two bulgy yellow eyes that were looking around the store in a strange manner. He was spooked by the passing-by of an employee and started to hurry away into our groups' general direction.

The next thing I knew, I was knocked to the floor in a hurry.

"Digit!" Lindbergh quickly rushed to my side and helped me up. "Are you all right?"

"Well, Mrs. Claus, how's your hubby?" I half-dazedly asked in response.

"He's okay," my best friend told the rest of the group. "He's just got a small technical problem. Nothing I can't fix."

The creature's eyes grew wide. "Hey, um ... you get any other channels? 'Cause, see, I gotta few in mind ...."

"I'm Mr. White Christmas," I introduced myself, "I'm Mr. Snow."

Lindbergh held me still to prevent me from breaking out into song and dance. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked the heavily clothed reptile.

"Well, ya see, uh, heheheh," began the lizard. However, Francine cut him a deadly glare, making the reptilian nervously chuckle and shake his head. "Uh, yeah, never mind."

"Well, anyways, thanks for breakin' my fall," he continued. "I'm Leon."

"_Friends call me Snow Miser,_" I sang, "_Whatever I tou--_"

I was cut short by the hand of my avian friend. "This is Digit," he introduced me to him. "My name is Lindbergh."

"And we are the band currently known as Solid Foam," Clifford said, introducing the rest of the band. "What brings you around these parts, Leon?"

Leon glanced around and lowered his head. He shrugged. "Aw, well, you know how it is," he told them. "The holidays can get to be hard for anyone without ... without," he continued, starting to blubber, "a family of their own." He wiped his snout on his sleeve. "I'm just tryin' ta get through the holidays, rememberin' my girlfriend." He looked up hopefully. "Did I mention she was hot?"

He seemed to be concerned about his holiday season so far, so I decided to ask him what was wrong. "Is something wrong, Leon?" I asked, hoping my talk would help him.

Leon nodded, tears freely flowing as he started to break down. "A coupla years ago, I cared deeply for my smokin' girlfriend Susan. We did everyt'ing together: watched TV, went strollin' in da park, lit fireworks, heheheh." He couldn't help but grin at what must have been fond memories. Suddenly, though, he got strangely quiet. "Winter came along, an' she got sick. It was super freaky, she was so pale. All she wanted was a Christmas ... a Christmas," he continued.

There was a long pause. Nearly everyone was sniffling at that point. He told us, "She just had to have her man get her a Christmas tree. She got out some cherries an' popcorn an' construction paper, so she could make da decorations while I went lookin' for da tree." He wiped his snout on his sleeve again. "I was tryin' ta find da perfect tree for my girl, but soon there was nuttin' left but scraggly lil' branches what was supposed ta be trees. I couldn't let my girlfriend have somethin' like that."

"Man, that's awful," Beard commented sadly.

Clifford nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you must've had it really tough," he said to the lizard.

Francine hugged Flash for comfort, a few tears coming out from behind her sunglasses. The saxophonist hugged her back, trying to comfort her.

Lindbergh was close to tears, and even I was trying not to sob. "What a touching story," I stated, trying to hold back the tears.

"Can you dig it?" Leon added tearfully. "I searched for HOURS for da perfect tree." He shook his head. "I came back just before dawn. My long search had finally turned keen on me, baby. I was sho dis would make her happy." He sighed.

"I carefully opened da door so she wouldn't hear me." His voice continued to break up. "I found ... I found ... I found her face in a bowl o' popcorn. I was, like, 'Hey, sunshine!' She wouldn't answer. Den I realized ... she had done left dis world for sho." He cried some more as everyone looked on in sorrow. "So, now I gotta gets me a tree so I can look at it an' put her last decorations on it, so her hip memories can live on."

That just about did it for me. By the time he finished up with his story, I was bawling, tears streaming down my face. "Why did she have to go-o-o?" I tearfully asked Lindbergh.

The kiwi put his arm around me and patted my back. "She's in a better place now, Digit," he told me, trying to calm me down.

"Poor guy," Francine commented, still in Flash's embrace. "Nothing like that should ever happen to somebody, especially during the holiday season. We should definitely help him out."

Flash nodded and mumbled out an statement of agreement to Clifford, also asking him what he though of the subject.

"I don't know," Clifford said, "this dude looks like he's up to something."

"How can you say that?" I asked the bass player through the tears. "He has lost the love of his life to illness. Imagine if you lost your mother to that same disease that she had." I wasn't exaggerating: I'd be devastated if I found out that my mom was sick during the holiday season. "I say we help him," I added, a wavering amount of sureness in my voice.

"I agree with Digit and them," Lindbergh agreed with us. "It's Christmastime, and Christmas is about helping others."

"Well, Cliff," Beard told his roommate, "it's a group decision: Should we help him or not? It's your verdict."

The bass player looked around at the rest of us before letting out a sigh. "All right," he said in defeat, "we'll help him out. But don't say I didn't warn you," he added under his breath.

Leon's eyes widened. He glanced around at all of us, momentarily unable to speak. "I can't believe this!" he exclaimed. "Thanks, guys! You guys are slammin'!"

"Well, it's Christmas, man," Clifford replied to the lizard. "It's the least we could do to help."

"To the trees?" Lindbergh asked.

"To the trees," everyone else answered, ready to head up to the front of the store and pay for the Christmas decorations.

I hooked my arms around Lindbergh's wing and Leon's arm before we se out for the front. "_Weeeeee're off to see the Wizard--_" I sang joyfully before I was cut off by the rest of the band with a sure "Not right now!"

I grinned sheepishly in response. "Right…" We all (Leon included) headed up to the front of the store to pay, all without breaking out into song and dance.

* * *

All of us looked on as Lindbergh and Flash bravely set forth to climb a tall building. The climb would be dangerous, but thanks to Lindbergh's equipment, they would probably be all right.

"I just hope that he knows what he's doing," Francine commented to me.

"It's okay," I told her, "Lindbergh's had experience doing these things."

"I meant Flash."

My eyes widened with realization. "Ooh…"

When the two climbers reached the top, they looked around. "I don't see a tree up here," the kiwi shouted over to the saxophonist. "Do you see anything?"

The young man held on to the top in exhaustion, gasping for breath.

"Hey, you two!" a man with a megaphone suddenly yelled from behind the rest of us. "Get off of the playground equipment!"

"Wow, I can see the Wal-Mart from up here!" Lindbergh commented.

Down below, Francine buried her face in her hands.

"We've gotta long way to go," Clifford stated as a group of children formed to stare up at the bird and the teenager.

* * *

"Don't worry, Leon," Lindbergh said to the reptile as the group walked down the sidewalk, "we'll find a tree for you soon."

"Yeah, um," Leon began loudly, then lowered his voice, "that's the important thing."

We passed a mime performing on the streets. Almost all of us slowed down to watch him perform, but Clifford continued onward down the street side.

The mime pointed in the bass player's direction in surprise and quickly (and silently) started to follow him.

"This should be interestin'," Beard whispered as we all followed, wondering what the mime was going to do next.

The purple bassist was walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He let out a soft sigh. The mime followed suit, miming all of Clifford's actions.

Flash was the first to let out a chuckle, quickly followed by Francine and Leon. Clifford turned around to see what was going on, and the mime froze in place, pretending he was in a box.

The purple male shrugged it off and continued on, the mime and our group following him. Reaching into his pocket, the guitarist pulled out a candy cane and started to lick it, his face becoming less serious. The mime followed suit, pulling an imaginary candy cane out of his pocket and licking it gleefully.

This earned more giggles from the group. "Guys, what is going on?" Clifford asked before turning around, only for the mime to be pretending to wrap a Christmas present and give it to him. "… thanks," he answered, a little bit freaked out. He then continued down the street, whistling a tune to himself. The mime, being the showman that he was, lowered his eyelids and followed in silent suit.

This was enough for Clifford to turn around and catch the mime in the act. "Get outta here, man!" he yelled at the street-performing mime. The white-faced man put on a sad face and ran away, crying silently. "Wait, come back! I didn't mean--" The bass player sighed. "Great, I'm an enemy to all mimes now," he said sarcastically.

The rest of us were still laughing. "What're you laughing at?" Clifford asked us. We immediately calmed down before setting off again.

* * *

At the lumber store, Lindbergh and I were glancing at the axes. The kiwi took one off the shelves and gave it to me to hold. "Cool, you look like the Tin Man!" he exclaimed.

"Do I really?" I asked in amazement.

"Except you don't have that one thing on your head," he continued. "Why don't we go find one?"

Before I could answer him, Beard approached the two of us with a glass of eggnog in his hands. "Hey, guys," he began, "how's it--?" The guitarist didn't have time to continue, for the next thing that we knew, he tripped over a stray log and spilt his drink all over me.

Everything that happened next was all a blur to me. All I can remember was my arms waving wildly around with the axe still in my hands. Then I shut down from all the glitches I had.

* * *

Possibly inspired by Flash's actions earlier, Francine started to climb a giant red slide in the mall in order to speak to the department store Santa about getting a tree for Leon. We all watched in amazement from the ground as she scaled the slippery slide on her way to the top.

"Mmm, that sure is one strong-willed woman you got there, Flash," Clifford teased the saxophonist. "She sure can climb."

"Shut up," the teen mumbled, embarrassed a little.

Leon suddenly walked in front of us and stopped. He kept staring at the ground. "Uh, look, fellas," he began softly. "You guys are pretty far-out, an' I've been a total chump, y'know? You dudes were totally down wit' tryin' ta help me an' everything. You didn't even focus on da inconvenience I was causin'. I just ... I just can't ruin da Christmas of such funky fellas. Let's just go back ta my place. I'll make this alright."

"What! ?" We all turned at the sound of Francine's voice yelling at the Santa on top of the slide. "I just climbed up think friggin' slide just to ask you for a tree, AND YOU TELL ME 'YOU'LL SPLINTER YOUR NAILS, KID'! ?"

We all looked at each other in concern. Before any of us could act, however, the department store Santa Claus had fallen face first down the slide and into the "snow" on the ground.

Francine came down the slide a few moments later, a look of anger on her face. "Let's get out of this dump, guys," she said to us.

"C'mon, bunny," Leon said as he elbowed Francine. "You and the guys need ta come over to my place."

"Don't call me bunny," she said to the lizard. With that, we all exited the mall, exhausted from the day's events.

* * *

"Are we there yet?" Lindbergh asked for the tenth time. We had been walking with Leon to his apartment for quite a while and were all wondering when we would reach the place.

"Keep your pants on, birdy," Leon replied to the kiwi. "We're almost there."

I took this opportunity to quicken my pace to be beside the lizard. "Sir," I said to him, "thank you so much for inviting us to your home on this cold winter evening. We all deeply appreciate what you're doing for us, even though you have so little to offer. You are a truly generous person, Leon," I finished with a smile.

Leon looked away. I could see him sigh silently to himself. His eyes moistened. He tensed as though he wanted to answer ... but he didn't. All he did was open the door to his apartment…

… and boy, were we surprised with what we saw.

The place was brightly decorated. Christmas knick knacks were on the shelves and the side tables. The table in the dining room had a decorated turkey on it, ready to be eaten. But what surprised us the most was the fact that there was a tree in the middle of the living room.

"Hold up!" Clifford exclaimed, breaking our awe of silence and turning to Leon. "You mean to tell us that you actually had a tree? And I bet that story about your dead girlfriend is fake, too!"

Leon chuckled to himself as he wiped away the water from his eyes. "Yep," he confessed, "this was all for you guys! Merry Chris--"

The reptile was cut short by Francine's hands wrapping around his throat. "Listen, you little two-faced liar," she growled through gritted teeth, "if you think that you can just expect us to forgive you just like that, you've got another thing coming!"

"I can explain, girlie!" Leon choked, gasping for air.

Flash and I intervened in between them, the saxophonist taking the drummer's hands off of the lizard's throat, myself getting our host away from the slightly angered female.

"Let him explain," I told the others, "he must have a good reason behind all of this."

"Indeed I does, Digit," the lizard said before starting to tell his real story. "Y'see, I saw you guys performin' a coupla times at some of da clubs I go to. And when I heard you all play, I thought to myself, 'Wow, these guys can really rock,' you know? So, when I heard you were all in the neighborhood, I decided to invite ya all to my home to celebrate the holidays."

"You see?" I defended him. "He only wanted to spend the holidays with us." I gave them a smile, hoping to help ease the tension.

A few moments of silence followed. I was starting to believe that nobody was believing either Leon or I.

Lindbergh spoke up. "Well, thank you for having a change of heart, Leon," he thanked the lizard for his generosity. "We're glad to spend the holidays with a new friend."

Leon's eyes widened. "You really consider me a friend?" he asked the others.

"Well, I do," I answered for them. "And… I believe that people deserve a second chance at things. So guys, can we start over with him?"

I had some doubt that my words would make sense to them, but in the end, everyone had found a friend in Leon. After we agreed to spend the night there, Leon started to hand out some Christmas presents to everyone. I was very grateful, for my gift was the other keyboard that completed the set of two.

"Francine, look up," I heard Flash say to the drummer. As I looked up, I as well as the others plainly saw the two teenagers kissing underneath the mistletoe.

"About time," Clifford commented with a smirk on his face. The two teens blushed at the bass player's words before they kissed again briefly.

When the New Year came around, I knew what I was thankful for. I was thankful for having so many new friends that have helped me out in so many different ways. From then on, I knew the true value of friendship and I still treasure it to this day.


	12. Chapter 12

As much as I enjoyed being with my friends in the band, I still had to get a complete college education if I wanted to get somewhere in my life. For a period of my life, I had trouble knowing which was more important: my studies or my friends. I tried to keep the two separate for a while, but occasionally the two would mingle and interfere with each other.

This type of incident occurred a few times, such as the day in the spring semester when I was trying to write a song for the band while I was studying for my classes at the same time. Periodically, I went over to my keyboards with pieces of paper (usually ones with musical staffs on them mixed in with my school work) and tried to find the right chords and notes to go with the lyrics.

_"Every dark night brings me to another day,"_ I sang softly as I played the notes. There was a slight pause in my voice, for I did not know the exact lyric that followed, before I sang again. _"Hey, hey… Hey, hey… What can I say?"_

"That's a nice song," I heard a familiar voice say a few moments later.

I turned to see Lindbergh standing by the door entrance, apparently having just gotten to the dorm from work. "Oh, thank you, Lindbergh," I replied, a smile on my face.

He joined me over by the keyboards. "Are you writing it for the band?" he asked, curiosity in his voice.

"Well, yes," I answered, "but I'm not quite sure about this one lyric." Then I started to play the song for him again, a little bit faster than the slow tempo I had earlier. _"Every dark night brings me to another day,"_ I sang again, adding "Then here's the part I don't know the lyrics to" before I sang again. _"Hey, hey… Hey, hey… What can I say?"_

"Gee, I'm sorry I can't help out with it," the kiwi said apologetically, "I'm just not the musician type. I can play the harmonica, but that's about it."

Despite my friend's best efforts to help, I couldn't help but let out a sigh in disappointment. "It's okay, Lindbergh," I consoled my friend. "At least you tried to help me out."

"Well, if you really want someone's help," the kiwi offered, "why don't you ask one of the other members in the band, or that guy from the music shop?"

"Mark Radice?" I stated, remembering the owner's name.

"Yeah, that's the guy who gave you your first keyboard."

I hadn't forgotten about the man who officially introduced me to the world of music. In fact, the rest of the band and I still came to visit him every other week when Flash and Francine didn't have school and I didn't have classes.

"I'll be sure to talk to them about it this weekend, Lindbergh," I replied, trying to sort out my school papers from my musical papers. "Right now, I've got to complete an assignment for one of my classes."

"Again?" My roommate knew how many classes that I was taking and how well I performed in them, but he couldn't believe that I had at least one assignment that I hadn't finished per day. (Come to think of it, neither could I...)

"Yes, again," I repeated to the kiwi with a sigh. "I don't understand it. I always get the assignments completed on time during class..."

"Maybe your mind is wandering to something else?" my friend suggested. "What about that concert you and the rest of Solid Foam have scheduled in that one club on Friday?"

I was greatly looking forward to the performance that the band had that Friday night. Each of us had chosen a song for the band to play at the concert. For instance, Beard had chosen "Sweet Home, Alabama", Flash chose "I'll Be There", Clifford chose the song "That's the Way I Like It" (for some strange reason…), and Francine selected "I Can See Clearly Now" as her contribution to the band's performance.

As for myself, I had selected a song from one of my all-time favorite singers/pianists. The song was "Bennie and the Jets" by Elton John, and we were playing it as our closing number. Out of all the songs on his album [i]Goodbye Yellow Brick Road[/i], that song was one of my favorites.

"Oh, I can't wait for the concert, Lindbergh," I told him excitedly.

"I bet the sound will be great. Plus, we're performing one of my favorite songs as the closing number."

"You know, I'm surprised that you hadn't worn that record out yet, Digit," Lindbergh commented. "You've been playing it at least once every week."

"Well, I think it's an honor for the band to be playing one of my favorite artist's songs," I replied. "Besides, it has a good beat to it." With that, I started to play the song on the keyboards.

_"Hey kids, shake it loose together,"_ I sang as I played to my audience of one. _"The spotlight's hitting something that's been known to change the weather… We'll kill the fatted calf tonight, so stick around… You're gonna hear electric music, solid walls of sound… Say, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet? Ooo, but they're so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets…"_

* * *

_"Oh, but they're weird and they're wonderful,"_ Flash sang on the stage. _"Oh, Bennie, she's really keen. She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets."_

Friday night had finally came. We were performing in a club on the other side of town, and the place was packed. The crowd had liked our previous four numbers and were accepting our closing number with great reception. I couldn't help but smile as I played away on the keyboards to the song that I had chosen the band to perform.

_"Hey kids, plug into the faithless,"_ Flash continued. _"Maybe they're blind, but Bennie makes them ageless. We shall survive, let us take ourselves along… Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find out who's right and who's wrong…"_

The young females in the audience were screaming over our saxophonist's melodic voice. Some were even trying to climb onto the stage, but some employees held them back.

Flash gave a smirk as he continued to help the band entertain the audience. "_Oh, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet? Oh, but they're so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Oh, but they're weird and they're wonderful. Oh, Bennie, she's really keen. She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets."_

The crowd wasn't just shouting praises to Flash, but to all of the band. In fact, I believe that my keyboard solo between the verses was well received with the audience.

_"Oh, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet?"_ the high school sax player sang after the solo was finished. _"Oh, but they're so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Oh, but they're weird and they're wonderful. Oh, Bennie, she's really keen. She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Bennie… Bennie and the Jets… Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_ the rest of the band sang in reply.

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie and the Jets!"_ the entire band sang in harmony.

_"Bennie!"_ Flash led.

_"Bennie, Bennie, Bennie,"_ the rest of us answered.

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie, Bennie, Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie!"_

_"Bennie and the Jets!"_ we all sang in conclusion.

The crowd erupted with thunderous applause. As the band took their bows, I took a glance around the club. To be honest, I never expected the song to be such a hit with the audience that it was that night.

A few minutes later, the entire band went backstage for a well-deserved break. I followed the guys back to our dressing room (Francine had requested a smaller dressing room to herself) with a wide smile on my face.

"Man, we really rocked out there!" Clifford stated immediately after the door closed.

"Yeah, man," Flash agreed briefly. Then he continued to mumble something about Elton John.

"What about Elton John?" I quizzically asked him.

"He said that he couldn't believe how well our closing number did," the bass player translated.

"Great song choice, Digit," Beard told me.

"Aw, thanks guys," I said in response. "I just figured that the song was-"

There was a knock on the door. "May I come in?" a voice from outside asked us.

"Sure," Clifford answered. "Come on in."

Lindbergh slipped into the dressing room, a smile on his beak. "That was a great concert, guys!" he congratulated us. "You guys really brought down the house!"

"Really?" I asked. "Are you sure the club was built to code?"

Everyone in the room laughed at my little joke. I even chuckled along with them.

Leon came into the room next, rubbing his cheek. "Man, that girl packs a punch," he muttered to himself.

"Yo, Leon," our bassist greeted to the lizard, "what happened to you?"

"Well, I was tryin' to get the girl to come out of her room," he explained before he paused. "… yeah… Well, I was meanin' to round you guys up."

"For what?" the lead guitarist wondered out loud.

"Oh yeah," Lindbergh suddenly remembered. "There's someone here to see all of you. He says that he's an agent."

We all perked up at the word immediately. An agent wanted to speak to us? "Unbelievable," I thought out loud.

"Well, believe it," Leon responded before turning his head to the door. "Come on in! They're expecting you!"

Francine slipped into the room first to be beside her boyfriend. "I can't believe it," she whispered to him excitedly. "An actual agent."

Flash nodded to her as we all eagerly awaited for the agent to come in.

A man then entered the room, a warm smile on his face. "Hello, my name is Bernie Brillstein," he introduced himself to us. "I heard you all play earlier and thought that you were terrific."

"Thank you, Mr. Brillstein," Beard responded to him first. "And may I say that it's a real pleasure meeting you. My name is Beard, and I'm the leader and the guitarist for Solid Foam."

Bernie chuckled. "Nice to meet you, Beard," he said, shaking hands with our band leader with a smile.

"I'm Clifford," the bass player introduced himself to the agent next. "I'm the bass player of the band."

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Clifford," the agent stated as he shook hands with the purple man.

"This is Digit," Clifford continued, introducing me. "He's the man that plays the keyboards."

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Brillstein, sir," I stated as I shook the man's hand.

"Thank you, Digit," Bernie replied. "It's nice to meet you as well."

"My name is Flash," our saxophonist managed to say to him. "I play the sax."

"And I'm Francine, the drummer," his girlfriend stated.

"Real pleasure to meet ya," Flash half-mumbled as he and Francine took turns shaking the agent's hand.

"A pleasure to meet the two of you as well," Bernie responded to them before speaking to all of us. "I'm here to speak to you all about the possibility of the band getting a contract.

I was overwhelmed by the offer. This was my first actual taste of the music business, but I didn't know how to react. I just stood there with widened eyes.

"Sure, a contract," Beard said, "we could go for that."

"Let's not rush into things right away, though. Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner tomorrow?" the agent suggested.

Beard and Clifford looked at each other before the purple bass player answered. "Sounds all right," he responded.

"Great," Bernie exclaimed with a smile, handing Beard a piece of paper. "I want all of you to meet me at this restaurant at six tomorrow evening. Does that sound like a deal?"

All of us agreed to his words and he left the dressing room with a smile. We knew that we had to be prepared to be ready for the next day, so, we all loaded up and headed to our respective homes to rest up. The next day was going to be very important for all of us.


	13. Chapter 13

"Yay, we got it!" Leon exclaimed as he started to high-five everyone in the car.

It was right after dinner the next day. We were all driving home after a successful meeting with Mr. Brillstein. The band now had a record deal and we were all going to celebrate back at Clifford and Beard's place.

"Wait a second, Leon," Francine realized after a while, "you're not even a member of this band."

"Well, not officially, girlie," the lizard replied, "but as the band's manager, it's my responsibility to keep the band happy."

"Now, wait a minute," Clifford interrupted, "what makes you so qualified to be our manager, man?"

"Out of all of us here, I'm the one that can work with the dough the best," the con reptile answered with a chuckle.

We all started to mumble among ourselves about the current manager issue. To tell the truth, Solid Foam didn't actually have a manager until Leon took the title all of a sudden. Were all of us really ready to accept him as our manager?

"If Leon gets to be the manager," Lindbergh spoke up, "can I handle all the equipment?"

We all turned to look at the kiwi (except for our driver, who looked at him through the rear view mirror). Now Lindbergh wanted to be our equipment manager. What was next, the discovery of fans in the trunk of the car?

_Wait a minute,_ I thought to myself,_ what if there ARE people in the back of the car?_ I turned my head around and peeked over the seat to see the trunk area of the car. I saw no one back there, so I correctly assumed that my assumption was false.

"Whatcha looking for, Digit?" I heard the kiwi whisper to me.

"It's nothing, Lindbergh," I answered him, turning back around to sit down in the seat. "Just thought I forgot something, but I didn't."

"As my first order of business as _official_ manager," Leon interrupted, assuming the position of manager once again, "I'd like ta discuss my part of the cash. I was thinking maybe fift-"

All those against Leon's statement immediately spoke up, disagreeing with him all at once. I heard responses such as a mumbled "You ain't the manager of nothing yet, man," "Who died and made you manager?", "Stop daydreamin' and come down to reality, Leon," and "Do I still get the job?"

As for me, I tried to keep myself out of the managerial argument. I could tell already that this was going to be a long car ride home without my addition to the conversation.

Amongst the bickering, we did eventually arrive at Clifford and Beard's place in one piece. The conversation was far from over, however. Francine was strongly disagreeing with everything that Leon had to say, Beard was trying to talk some sense into all of us, Flash was wary about it all, Clifford didn't trust the lizard with anything that involved money, Lindbergh was still wondering if he could be the equipment manager, and I was on the edge of my seat, biting my lip in order to keep quiet.

I couldn't have taken much more of the bickering for much longer. Their arguing was driving me close to insanity at the time, and I didn't want to make it any worse. Still, the constant disagreements were tearing me apart. Eventually, I took no more of it.

"Will you all be quiet! ?" a voice yelled from my throat.

Everyone in the vehicle had ceased their arguing and were staring at me. I stared right back at them, hardly believing that I was the one who silenced an argument. "… uh… Oh will you look at that!" I exclaimed semi-nervously with forced enthusiasm. "We made it to Beard and Clifford's apartment! All right!"

After a moment of awkward silence, we all filed out of the car and into the apartment. I let out a quick sigh of relief. _Finally,_ I thought, _we could all enjoy a movie night together in peace without any arguing._

Boy, was I ever wrong.

Not only did the argument about managers started back up again, but other disagreements were sparked by what movie everyone wanted to watch and who would prepare the popcorn and the drinks. Because I could pick up TV signals, almost everybody was asking me what movies were showing at the time. (I tried to point out that there was a very recent issue of TV Guide in the room, but hardly anyone paid attention.)

I collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Eventually, we all decided on Casablanca. Unfortunately, none of us knew if it was showing that night or not, so I was hooked up to the TV to display what I remembered from the movie for the rest of them.

So far, the movie was trying to stay true to the actual story, but several differences arose. The setting was somewhere in Oz, some of the characters from The Wizard of Oz replaced the roles of the Casablanca characters (this included Judy Garland as Dorothy Gale in the place of Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa Lund), Howdy Doody made a surprise appearance (much to my embarrassment), and the character Sam sang "Viva Las Vegas" instead of "As Time Goes By". It wasn't the most accurate telling of the film, but it at least kept everyone argument-free amidst the chuckling and various moments of confusion.

Finally, the film reached its famous ending scene, the part where Rick tells Ilsa to get on the plane with Victor. I knew this scene by heart, and I always loved to recite Humphrey Bogart's speech when I was still a teenager.

While the film was still playing, I started to daydream that I was playing the lead role in that final scene. Dorothy Gale, who I had a major crush on while growing up, was still Ilsa, and she looked very lovely in that role.

"Louis," I said to the Renault in my daydream, "have your man go with Mr. Laszlo and take care of his luggage."

The Renault, who was played by Lindbergh in my subconscious, bowed at me. "Certainly Rick, anything you say," he replied before turning to the orderly. "Find Mr. Laszlo's luggage and put it on the plane," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," the orderly, played by Leon, said. "This way please," he said to Laszlo (who was played by the Scarecrow for some odd reason) before escorting him in the direction of the plane.

I took the letters of transit out of my pocket and handed them to Lindbergh, who turned and walked towards the hanger. "If you don't mind, you fill in the names," I requested. "That will make it even more official."

"You think of everything, don't you?" Lindbergh asked me, still walking.

"And the names are Mr. and Mrs. Victor Laszlo," I stated quietly.

My friend stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Both he and Dorothy, who was holding Toto in a basket, looked at me with astonishment.

"But why my name, Richard?" the Kansas girl asked me.

"Because you're getting on that plane," I told her.

"I don't understand," she stated, confused. "What about you?"

"I'm staying here with him 'til the plane gets safely away," I answered.

My intentions suddenly dawned on the female. "No, Richard, no," Dorothy said in disbelief. "What has happened to you? Last night we said-"

"Last night we said a great many things," I interrupted her. "You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I've done a lot of it since then and it all adds up to one thing. You're getting on that plane with Victor where you belong."

"But Richard," she protested, "no, I, I-"

"You've got to listen to me," I told the girl from Kansas, trying to get her to see the logical side of things. "Do you have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we'd both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn't that true, Louis?" I questioned Lindbergh.

"I'm afraid Major Strasser would insist," he replied after countersigning the papers.

"You're saying this only to make me go," Dorothy argued.

"I'm saying it because it's true," I said to her. "Inside of us we both know you belong with Victor. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it."

A "no" escaped from her lips.

"Maybe not today," I continued, "maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life."

"But what about us?" the beautiful woman asked me, trying to hold back the tears.

"We'll always have Paris," I told her. "We didn't have, we lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night."

"And I said I would never leave you," Dorothy told me, a smile forming on her face.

"And you never will," I reassured her. "But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand."

Dorothy's eyes were letting the tears roll down her cheeks as I was speaking. I decided to calm her down. "Now, now…" I placed my hand under her chin, lifting her eyes up to meet mine. "Here's looking at you, kid," I said to her.

And then I kissed her. It wasn't scripted or called for (and it didn't even happen in the actual movie), but I kissed her briefly on those tender lips of hers. The beautiful female from Kansas smiled sweetly at me, and I gave my sincerest smile to her in return. My heart was soaring throughout my body. I was enjoying the wonderful sensation of being with someone that I loved, and I wished that it never had to end.

Unfortunately, the moment ended as soon as my body was hit by a pillow. The television screen changed to a Western moment starring Mary Poppins as soon as I hit the floor.

"Are you all right, Digit?" Lindbergh asked with concern as he helped me up and dusted me off.

"What hit me…?" I replied dazedly.

"Heheheh… whoops," I heard Leon apologize. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Um, call me crazy," Francine interjected, "but I don't think that's how the movie went, even if this was my first time seeing it."

"Sorry guys," I apologized, "there were some… technical difficulties throughout the showing. I'm pretty sure that they didn't mean to happen."

"Like when you kissed Judy Garland," Clifford stated.

I immediately froze after that statement. _They saw that, my daydream, on the TV?_ I thought. I glanced away from all of them in embarrassment, feeling my cheeks redden… if they even could redden anymore…

"Don't worry about it, Digit," Lindbergh reassured me with a pat on the back, "you did your best to give us the movie."

A weak smile came onto my face as I grabbed the lead from the television hook-up device and placed it back into my ear. "Thank you," I told him quietly.

"It's no problem," the kiwi bird whispered back. "Besides, I know how you feel. I always had a crush on Betty Rubble as a kid."


	14. Chapter 14

The summer of 1976 was one that most of us would never forget. Not only did we start to tour a few states during that year, but a certain show aired that would make an impact on all of us.

We came across the show purely by chance. All of us were at Beard and Clifford's place again and were trying to think of what to do. Until then, we were searching through channels to try to find a good program worth watching.

As soon as we changed the channel from one station to the other, the sound of an announcer (a frog announcer, to be exact) filled the room. "It's The Muppet Show," the amphibian exclaimed, "with our special guest star…"

"Wait, isn't that Kermit the Frog?" Francine spoke up.

"You mean the frog off of Sesame Street?" Clifford added.

"Didn't know it came on this late," Flash managed to mumble out.

"Wonder what this is all about," I wondered, turning the volume up a little.

_"It's time to play the music, it's time to light the lights,"_ a group of chorus girls sang. _"It's time to meet the Muppets on The Muppet Show tonight!"_

Immediately, I started to hum along with the theme music. It had a certain vaudeville style that seemed to grab my attention. We all watched as the guest star was introduced

_"… this is what we call The Muppet Show!"_ an ensemble of Muppets finished. Then a little blue creature with a funny-looking nose (who I would later learned to be called Gonzo) tried to hit the inside of the "O" like it was a gong with hilarious results.

After that opening theme, all eyes were turned to the TV so that we could all watch this new show that grabbed our attention so suddenly. The crazy antics that played before us on the small screen captured our laughter as nothing ever had before.

One of the aspects of the show that all of us loved was the music. There was such a diversity to it that it had at least a handful of songs that each of us liked, and then some.

There was one thing about the show that we all agreed on a musical level: Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem were terrific.

Right from the moment we first saw them, we knew that this band was talented. The way they could perform a variety of music from jazz to rock (to even classical at some times) simply amazed us all. Every time they performed, they never ceased to amaze us.

"You know, maybe we should go as them for a Halloween sometime," I commented as we all watched the Electric Mayhem perform a fast-paced cover of "Tenderly".

"Oh no," Francine protested, "I'm not about to dress up as Animal."

"Same goes for me as Janice," Beard mumbled under his breath.

Clifford apparently heard that comment because he laughed immediately afterwards.

A few minutes later, another sketch that I was particularly fond of: the exciting realm of Muppet Labs, "where the future is being made today." I always loved the innovations of Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and hope every time I watch a sketch that his inventions will work. Oddly enough, I felt as if I shared some sort of a connection with the scientist that I couldn't begin to explain.

"Man, I can never understand this cat," Clifford remarked as we watched Bunsen experiment with a gorilla detector. "How does he keep on doin' that?"

"He's very determined," I commented, "yet he also seems to be a little frustrated to get one of his inventions to actually work well."

"If dat's the case, he must work a lot," Leon stated.

"Wow, what a useful invention," Francine sarcastically said as a gorilla wreaked havoc on-screen.

I sighed silently to myself. _At least it works,_ I thought to myself as I watched the alarm flash and the bell ring.

* * *

We all followed the show even a year later, when we were on the road touring. In our hotel rooms in New York City (where we were on tour), we all gathered to watch The Muppet Show on at least one television screen and comment about it.

By the summer of 1977, the show was is its second season. This meant more musical numbers, more guest stars, and more fun for us to watch.

"Here is Chopin's Polonaise in A Flat," Kermit announced on screen as the audience clapped.

"Yawn," I heard Francine say.

"Psst, Kermit," a voice belonging to a bear (Fozzie Bear) whispered as he poked his head out from behind the curtain, "the concert pianist could not make it."

"Yeah, but I just introduced the Polonaise," the frog stated.

"That's okay," Fozzie replied, "here, I got a whole new intro written." He then handed his friend a piece of paper with writing on it. "Good luck, kid." Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

"Maybe they're getting Rowlf to play it?" Lindbergh questioned.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen," Kermit announced, "Chopin's Polonaise in A Flat as performed by… Dr. Teeth?"

All of us laughed out loud right after he finished speaking. We all tried to calm down so that we could watch the number, but in the end we all chuckled and giggled as we were watching. I believe that we couldn't believe that a rock band was playing a piece of classical music in their own style. It was just hilarious.

After the number was over, we were all talking to each other at once about it. We all seemed to come to the same conclusion: "That was hilarious."

Pretty soon (after a commercial break), it was time for another visit to Muppet Labs.

"Where the future is being made today," I said along with the scientist. That caused some weird stares from some of the others in my direction. I didn't answer them, I was too absorbed in the sketch.

One of the first things that everyone seemed to notice was a new person in the sketch: a man with a test tube-like appearance with messed-up red hair and a nervous disposition. Just a few moments later, we learned that this was Dr. Bunsen Honeydew's new assistant, Beaker.

"He finally got a guinea pig," Francine commented after the assistant's introduction.

I simply nodded in response. It was interesting to see such a distinguished scientist get such a nervous helper. I didn't even know why he was there. _Maybe it was the exploding clothes from last season,_ I thought to myself.

This week's invention was magnetic carrots, and Bunsen claimed that they can be carried home on the roof of the car and can be stored on the roof of your refrigerator.

"Of course, to be perfectly honest" the scientist added as what appeared to be the sound of mechanical hopping accompanied by a metal rabbit started to come into the lab, "there is one slight drawback. Sometimes, the magnetic carrots tend to attract steel, er, rabbits." He then quickly ducked down just in time to not be hit by the mechanical rabbit. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about poor Beaker.

"Man, that gotta hurt," Clifford observed.

"Wow, what a sketch," Lindbergh said to me.

"I know," I replied to him. "Who would've known that he'd get an assistant?"

* * *

The next day, we performed a concert on a stage in Central Park. Leon, who had since the argument became our temporary manager, reported that the ticket sales were great (even though none of us remembered if we actually sold tickets or not). We played our hearts out at that concert, just as we had done for all the others.

"Thank you, New York!" Beard exclaimed as the concert drew to a close. "You've been a wonderful audience! Good night, everybody!" With that, Lindbergh cued up a recording of us playing as we waved to the slowly disappearing crowd.

The entire band, including Lindbergh and Leon, later went to a café for dinner after the performance. Everyone was talking up a storm about all that they've seen and would like to see while we were still in the town that never sleeps.

We were in the middle of a group discussion about possibly seeing a show on Broadway when Lindbergh and Leon (who had been up getting their drinks) ran towards our table. "You'll never guess who wants to speak to you!" the kiwi bird exclaimed, a look of excitement on his face.

"A guy from a record company?" Clifford guessed.

"Nah," Leon told him. "Good try, though. Here's a hint: famous, musically talented, keyboards-"

"Elton John wants to speak to us?" I asked excitedly before the lizard had a chance to continue, standing up from my seat.

"How about a group of someones who've worked with him?" a familiar voice asked.

All of us turned our heads in the general direction of the voice. Our eyes did find the owner of the voice and the group that he was with. We could not believe who we saw.

There, standing some feet from us, were the one and only Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem.

There, wanting to speak to us, were the groovy keyboardist, the hip bass player, the lovely lead guitarist, the cool saxophonist, and the wild drummer that we had all grown to become fans of.

There, looking at them in amazement, were my friends and I, waiting for at least one of us to speak to them.

"Like, don't worry, we won't bite," Janice said before any of us. That gave us some relief.

"ROCK AND ROLL! ROCK AND ROLL! ROCK AND ROLL!"

Animal, however, decided to be a little bit more forward, literally running up to us. He would've tackled at least three of us if it weren't for Floyd holding him back by a chain.

"Well, all of us except for Animal," the bass player added. "Don't worry, though, he's usually like this around people that he doesn't know."

"Hai," the drummer greeted, waving at us.

"… hello," Francine said with a slight amount of uneasiness in her voice. "Nice to meet you."

The drummer (their drummer, not ours) took a look at her and blinked. "Wo-man?" he asked.

"… yeah," the female said. "Like I said, it's nice to meet-"

"WO-MAN! WO-MAN! WO-MAN!"

Francine let out a gasp and ran for cover to prevent Animal from chasing her more. The rest of us couldn't help but laugh at the situation.

"You think this is FUNNY! ?" our drummer said in disbelief.

"Should've warned you about that, girlie," Floyd told her, keeping a firm hold on Animal's chain leash. "Well, at least you know now."

"Yeah, thanks for telling me so soon," she replied sarcastically.

Flash went over to help Francine up, leaving the rest of us to talk among another: basically, the main conversations were Zoot with Lindbergh, Clifford and Beard with Floyd and Janice, Leon with Animal (when the latter wasn't chasing him). The two teens later joined in to talk with Floyd and Janice as well and the entire band had their inputs in all the conversations, but for now, it was just Dr. Teeth and I.

"I am - actually, all of us are - big fans of your band's work," I said to the other keyboardist.

"It always warms the heart to meet a receptive audience," the man with the golden tooth replied.

"Yeah," Floyd added to the conversation, "it means you hip dudes at least have some taste!" Then he gave out a raspy laugh.

"We've all been fans of the band's work since the beginning of The Muppet Show," I told him before realizing an important matter. "By the way, if you don't mind me asking, why are you… you know… talking to us?"

Dr. Teeth shrugged. "Why not?"

Janice added her bit to the conversation, "Like, we're usually in tune with the vibrations of music's future…"

"And you dudes are definitely vibratin' the vibrations of fated tunes," their leader finished with a nod.

A smile crept onto my face. "Oh, thank you, all of you" I thanked them. "You don't know how much your comments will mean to the band."

The man with the permanent grin patted me on the shoulder. "It is a most welcome pleasure, my technological and biological accompaniment!" he replied. "The band is always lookin' for a groovy set of melodious progeny to whom to pass the emblematic torch."

I shook the other keyboardist's hand, a feeling of happiness filling up my entire body. "It's truly an honor just to meet you and the rest of the band," I told him. "We've always talked about it, but we could never imagine it like this. This… is beyond belief. This... is beyond belief. I can't believe we're actually talking with the Electric Mayhem. I mean... wow…"

"Hey, man, don't blow a transistor or nothin'," Floyd and Beard said in response. Then they glanced over at each other and let out a laugh.

"Man Floyd, you've hardly changed," our guitarist happily stated to their bass guitarist. "How long has it been again?"

"I think the last time we saw each other was," Floyd blinked, "what, Aunt Bea's Christmas party back in '68?"

"Ten years?" Beard thought out loud.

"Believe so," was the response. "That was the year that Rosie and Uncle Tom announced their engagement…"

"And Jimmy went and nearly scared Aunt Bea/my mom half to death with that prank," they both finished with a laugh.

The rest of us decided to let the two catch up on things as I continued to speak to the rest of them. "So, what brings you all to New York?" I asked, wondering why they weren't taking a break in the UK.

"Like, TV is a good gig and all," Janice answered, "but it's also important to check the pulse of the real music scene every once in awhile."

Dr. Teeth nodded in agreement. "Too true, too true. One must keep abreast of the latest melodies or risk dyin' the death of the has-been."

"Truer words have never been spoken, man," Clifford said, agreeing with all of this.

"Excuse me…"

Our heads turned to see the waiter with our orders. "Here's your food," he said. "Should I… go back to the kitchen to request more orders?"

"Man, some food does sound a little good right about now," Floyd commented. "Let's see what all this place has." He then grabbed a menu and thumbed through it, passing it around to the others so that they could see as well.

Throughout all of this, I noticed that Dr. Teeth seemed a little distracted. He seemed to be looking at something in the distance and started to wander off near the corner. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I decided to follow him.

"Dr. Teeth…?" I started, curious as to what was troubling him.

The good doctor nodded for me to approach him. "I would like to discourse on your keyboardin' technique," he told me.

"… sure," I replied, stepping closer to him. "What about it?"

"Y'see, Digit, my man," he began, "we of the Electric Mayhem have made many a record, as have many musicians before and after us. And yet, a record is just a copy: little tiny microscopic grooves directed by a tiny little needle. You want the soul of the musician, you gotta hear him play. I've been watchin' and I see you can COPY the notes ... but can you PLAY 'em?"

I was about to answer him, but then I paused to consider his words. Was I really just… COPYING the music? How could I really PLAY the music? And… did I even have a soul still?

As I looked back on my career so far, I noted that I was still fairly new to the music scene and had the least experience in the band. True, I was copying the notes, but it wasn't because of my new robotic nature rather than my inexperience in the realm of the musical world. I couldn't possibly think of what he was getting at… except…

"… are you saying that I have no soul?" I softly questioned the more experienced keyboardist.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I asked if you could PLAY. I never said you COULDN'T," he told me. "I would never theorize about the nature of the universe. That's more of Zoot's ax. I just tickle the ivories according to the notes I'm handed."

"Oh." I paused a little before speaking again. "… sorry if I jumped to conclusions a little, it's just… well, I've been through a lot in the past few years…"

"I can imagine," the good doctor replied with a nod. "No one ever stops to think that Animal has a mind with which to conceive the deepest of the deep thoughts. It's just his rambunctiousness gets in the way of what's going on inside that fuzzy noggin' of his. That's why we took him as our drummer, to give his hands something to do so his mind can chill out later."

I never would've thought that Animal was that deep. I managed a "wow" before letting the conversation go on.

"It may have evaded your contemplation," Dr. Teeth continued, "but the Electric Mayhem is filled righteously awesome dudes and dudettes." He nodded towards their sax player. "Zoot studied how music soothes the savage soul." Then he motioned towards Janice." Our leading lady joined the Peace Corp when it first came of service." Finally, he pointed to himself. "I have a prodigious vocabulary which betrays my own achievements in vernacular and parlance. Those are just but a few examples of the greatness that is us. It only took a single observation to notice the band of the almighty Solid Foam is comprised of equally strange and compatible geniuses. But a genius that never uses his head is just a regular joe. When you play, you try so hard to be someone else. Practice your tunes until your fingers play them in your sleep. That way, you'll stop copyin' notes ... you'll be playin' your heart."

I smiled at the permanently smiling keyboardist. "I believe I understand now," I told him. "I need to really practice until my own emotions come out in my playing. Dr. Teeth, thank you… thank you… thank you… thank you… thank you…"

His shades went up in surprise. All I could do was repeat the phrase "thank you" constantly, steadily becoming frustrated that I couldn't control it.

"Do not overly fret, my technological amigo," the master of ivories stated to me warmly. "We of the Electric Mayhem always have our ears to the ground regarding the presence of helping hands."

"We got a house doctor over at the show," Zoot spoke up (which was surprising, since he hardly said anything the entire time). "Dude goes by the name of Honeydew. He's got a major in robotics and all sorts of weird gadgetry. If anyone's got what you need, he does."

"Yeah, what you'll need FIRST is a will and testament," Floyd added before laughing.

"BUNSEN FIX! BUNSEN FIX!" Animal yelled.

My eyes lit up. Now I was offered the perfect chance to meet Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, that scientist that I had grown to know fondly by the presentation of his inventions. I disregarded the joke that Floyd made and happily thanked all of them a couple more times (since I was still glitching) before thinking about what the next day would bring.


	15. Chapter 15

The next day, I found myself looking around at various inventions in what was most likely Bunsen and Beaker's main office/workspace. I didn't know if I was supposed to be in there yet or not. The door was unlocked and nobody else was around, so I let myself in.

The numerous inventions that Dr. Bunsen Honeydew had on display simply astounded me. Not only were some of him Muppet Show inventions there, but there were also some that I've never seen before on the show. Inventions with seemingly clear purposes, inventions with simple structures, inventions that were so complexed that it was hard to pinpoint a specific purpose for them... All of the inventions were simply amazing and I loved to study each one.

At some point, I came across a pile of blueprints, each of them dated in the bottom left corner. These contained designs for some of his inventions, a majority of which hadn't been made yet. I analyzed them all with fascination, trying to think of what other things could've come from the scientist's mind.

One set of blueprints seemed to grab my attention, however. The designs on the paper were of a system of circuitry which was, strangely enough, very much like my own (at least from what Lindbergh had described to me and my own observations). I saw a patent date in the corner, the year of the patent being early 1975. _How could he make such an invention that seems to be the basis for my circuitry?_ I pondered to myself.

My pondering was interrupted early by the approach of a small group outside the lab. I quickly folded the blueprints back up and placed them with the others, remaining perfectly still afterwards so that I could listen in on the conversation.

"Bunsen! I want you to get rid of your 'Bunsonium' right now!" exclaimed a frustrated voice. The voice was unmistakable; it had to be Kermit the Frog speaking.

"I've had it up to here with your inventions!" he continued. "If it weren't for the fact the audience mistakes your sketch for comedy, I'd have you fired!" (I let out a soft gasp at this statement. How could he put such a brilliant mind out of a job?) "Not a single one of your inventions does anything other than destroy everything around the theater! You claimed that stuff was a paint remover ... and it ended up ADDING paint! You used it as a glue for floorboards ... and a penguin walked over it and the whole floor crashed to the ground! I've got barely enough money to pay our wages! How can you possibly justify inventions that eat us out of house and home?"

"Mr. Kermit, I assure you that there are some good in my inventions," the mild-mannered voice of Dr. Bunsen Honeydew told him. "In fact, Beaker and I are still experimenting on the _good_ uses of Bunsonium at the moment."

"Making you disappear?" was the sarcastic response from the frog.

There was silence for a moment between them. "Actually, that may be a good idea for a future invention," the scientist commented. A "meep", most likely from Beaker, went out in surprise. "But for now, we're still trying to find a good, external use for the chemical."

I then heard Kermit let out a frustrated scream and storm off.

"Oh dear," Bunsen worriedly stated, "I'm afraid that I've gone and upset him…oh well… such is the burden of being a scientist…" A sigh escaped from his throat. "To think, I only want one of my inventions to be for the greater well being of humanity…"

The sound of more meeping could be heard as I saw the shadow of Beaker pat his colleague on the shoulder. "There, there now, Beaker," Bunsen continued, "hope is not lost. Besides, we have yet to see the effects of Bunsonium as a shampoo!"

More meeps went out in protest. "Oh, nonsense, Beaker," the scientist said, turning the knob to the door and opening it so that the two could get into the room, "it'll be all right. Remember that we're doing this strictly for science."

He then turned around to see me, standing there right in front of him. "Oh, why hello there," Dr. Honeydew greeted to me. "Welcome to Muppet Labs, where the future is being made today! I'm Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, and this is my assistant Beaker."

"Mee-mo!" the assistant waved.

"How may we be of service to you, sir?"

I didn't want to speak in fear of repeating even more phrases over and over and sounding like a fool in front of them. Instead, I grabbed a pencil and a pad of paper and began to write a sentence. 'Can you help me, please?' I wrote for them.

"Oh, yes," Bunsen answered. "What seems to be the problem?"

'There seems to be a glitch in my system,' I wrote. 'I keep repeating phrases over and over again with no control over it.'

"Hmm…" The scientist stroked his chin for a few seconds. "May we please have a demonstration?"

I was afraid that he would say that… Still, I couldn't just refuse to do it, he wanted proof. I cleared my throat and started to say a phrase to them. "Welcome to Muppet Labs," I said to them, "where the future is being made today. Where the future is being made today," I repeated involuntarily. "Where the future is being made today. Where the future is being made today."

Beaker awed in amazement as I continued to repeat the phrase without control to them. "Interesting," his scientific friend commented. "Now calm down, Mr. …? I don't believe I caught the name."

I grabbed the writing utensil and the notepad again and wrote my name for them.

"Oh, Mr. Digit," the scientist read. "Don't you fret about a thing, Mr. Digit, we'll have you good as new in no time. Beaker," he said to his assistant, "could you please help our patient onto the table?"

The reply was a meep in agreement. "Excellent!" Bunsen exclaimed. "While you're doing that, I'll go ready the equipment and tools!" He then strolled over to another part of the lab to do just that.

Beaker sighed. "I just don't understand why he chose me to be his assistant," he meeped to me, taking me over to the table.

My eyes widened a little. I could understand him perfectly, and I didn't even realize it until now.

"What? What is it?" the assistant meeped in confusion as I stared at him.

'Nothing,' I wrote for him to read, 'it's just that I seem to understand you somehow.'

He gasped. "You mean, you can understand what I'm saying to you right now?" he asked in meep form.

'Indeed, I can,' I jotted down. 'Now, about what you said earlier… I think it's great that you're working with a scientist like Bunsen. Why, I've always wanted to work with him myself.'

"Wow," Beaker meeped in amazement, "hardly anyone's been able to understand me before. I mean, sure, Bunsen can understand me, but usually he's just absorbed into his inventions."

'He has a brilliant mind,' I commented before I set the pad down to hoist myself up onto the table with the assistant's help.

"He really does," Beaker replied in meeps. "The thing is, he's so focused on at least one of his inventions working out to help everyone. So far, none of them have seemed to help that much."

'The gorilla detector worked,' I wrote. 'That is, before the gorilla broke it…'

"There was a gorilla detector?" he meeped in curiosity and confusion.

Before I had a chance to write anything else, Dr. Bunsen Honeydew reentered the area with a few tools and equipment that was to be used to repair me. "Now then, Mr. Digit," he said, "just stay put for a little while until Beaker and I finish setting up the equipment. It shouldn't take too long."

I nodded, and the two scientists started to set up all the equipment and tools needed for my repair. During this time, I started to doodle a little. It was nothing special, just a few designs for a small device of an unknown purpose and a sketch of some creature that I wanted to create via computer when the technology was more advanced.

"Okay, now, stay perfectly still," Bunsen instructed, walking behind me with a screwdriver. "I'm going to loosen this panel back here so I can get to your main circuitry."

I put the paper down and sat perfectly still, my eyes wandering around the room. The feeling of the bolts of the control panel loosening on the back on my head sort of tickled, and I softly chuckled a little bit. It was after the panel was loosened up that the scientist took a look around inside my head.

A few moments later, I heard him gasp in surprise.

I slowly and carefully turned around as Dr. Honeydew backed away, looking like he had just seen the biggest shock of his life. Beaker was looking at the scientist in surprise, concerned about just what he had seen.

"I cannot believe it," he softly stated, a look of surprise on his face.

Quickly, I grabbed the pad and pencil again and wrote out a simple message to him: 'What's wrong?'

"Nothing, my good man," he told me, "it's just that… excuse me for a moment." The scientist then took a few moments to regain his composure. "Sorry about that," he apologized, "it was just that I couldn't believe what I just saw."

'What did you see?' I wrote.

"I saw… my own work."

I dropped the pencil and heard the sound it made as it hit the floor. All was deathly silent as I stared at him in shock.

My eyes must've conveyed a message to Bunsen as he replied a few moments later. "Now, let's get you repaired and I'll tell you all about it afterwards," he said before beginning his work.

* * *

After I was fixed, Beaker was sent out to do an errand. Bunsen pulled up two chairs for us and motioned for me to sit down in one of them. He followed suit a few moments later.

I was a little nervous on speaking to him. One, I wasn't entirely sure if I'd stop repeating phrases. Two, all of the yelling earlier had made me a little uneasy. Three, I didn't even know what to say.

"So," the scientist started, "how long has it been since your operation?"

"About two years, I believe," I replied. "The operation occurred in 1975..." Had it really been only two years?

Bunsen stroked his chin as he spoke. "Hmmm… I see. And other than the occasional vocal inconsistencies, everything has been working out okay?"

"Everything's been working out fine," I answered. "Even though I do have a minor malfunction every now and then, I have a friend who's in mechanics who helps me get back up on my feet."

"Hmm, fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. He must be extremely intelligent to be able to comprehend the complexities of such a beautiful design," Dr. Honeydew commented, smiling warmly.

"Yes," I agreed, smiling back. "Lindbergh is really terrific. He's one of the best friends a person like me could ever have."

"Ahem, yes," he continued as he shifted around uncomfortably in his chair. "Companionship ... can be ... most satisfactory."

I noticed the uneasiness and decided to change the subject a little. "… still, I only have a handful of close friends. You, however, have a lot of friends that you work with almost every day."

"Well, my coworkers are quite busy, as am I," the scientist stated with a hint of wistfulness, "there are many details to running a theater." Then he immediately started to cheer up as the conversation continued. "Before I started here, I had no idea the rigor that was required. It's almost scientific in its need for absolute discipline and concentration. My, the long hours we work are so productive and satisfying. I find myself devoting entire DAYS to the job."

"You and your coworkers are all one big, happy family," I commented before sighing. "Boy, I wish I had that as a child," I softly continued.

"So do I," I heard him agree before he caught himself. "I mean, I feel the entire WORLD is my family. I desire nothing more than to help others and make the world a better place through technology." In a moment, he became slightly downcast. "Sadly, it gets harder and harder to come up with viable inventions. The sketches on the show are not quite what they appear to be ... I had hoped that it would be far more informative and educational. Instead, it appears my inventions ... amuse ... people."

"Well, I for one think that your inventions are incredible," I told him, hoping to cheer the scientist up. "Nowhere in a million years would someone else invent the things that come from your mind. Even I couldn't think up of most of the things that you invented, and I'm part of one of your inventions."

"Thank you, Digit," Dr. Honeydew thanked me with a brief smirk. "It's nice to do follow-ups on one's work. But remember: you aren't 'just' an invention. The components that allow you to function are the invention. The creation of my idea was to allow everyday people to regain mobility and cognitive functioning." He tapped his glasses as he continued. "Just because I wear glasses doesn't make me any less of a person. I am a person… I just use technology to make my performance more efficient."

"We're very much alike, Dr. Honeydew," I commented with a smile. "Let me be the first to say that I have been very fortunate enough to meet you."

"And I, you," Bunsen said, smiling back. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I wonder if you might like to meet Kermit the Frog. True, he doesn't really own the theater. Mr. Grosse does. However, our employer does listen to Kermit with great interest. Of course, if you don't wish to, I'd understand."

I was greatly surprised by his offer. "Me? Meet Kermit the Frog?" I repeated. "Why, I'd love to, Dr. Honeydew. When can we schedule the meeting?"

"Well, I don't wish to keep you from your companions for long," he stated, checking his watch. "Do you have a spare five to ten minutes?"

"Oh, certainly, sir," I eagerly replied. "I think that they've expected me to be away for part of the day, anyway, due to the repair."

"Excellent!" the scientist grinned. "Then let us go see him."

I followed him to the exterior of the door that led to Kermit's office. I was very excited. Not only have I met Bunsen and Beaker, but I'd actually get to meet Kermit the Frog on the exact same day.

Dr. Honeydew poked his head inside Kermit's office to announce our arrival. "Excuse me, Mr. Kermit, do you have a few moments?" he asked.

"This better be important, Honeydew," the frog uttered with a frown.

"And how important it is," the scientist responded, opening the door to let both of us inside. "Mr. Kermit, I'd like you to meet Digit."

The famed amphibian gulped and tried to put a smile on his face as I entered the room. "Well, hello there," he greeted before shaking my hand, "I'm Kermit the Frog - but I guess you kinda figured that by now. So, do you know our resident scientist?"

"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kermit, sir," I told the famous frog, shaking his hand in return while trying very hard to contain the full intensity of my joy. "Yes, I am acquainted Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker as well as the Electric Mayhem. You see, I'm the keyboardist of a band called Solid Foam. My friends and I met the Electric Mayhem yesterday, and they recommended me to your chief scientist when I was experiencing a malfunction." I let go of his hand with a small "Sorry" after hand shaking for the entire time I had been speaking.

"Mr. Digit's life has been saved due to one of my patented inventions," Dr. Honeydew explained, showing the his amphibian boss the blueprints. "It's a system of circuitry that allows a person to regain mobility and cognitive functioning."

The frog's jaw dropped briefly in surprise. "YOU invented this?" he asked Bunsen. He observed me for several moments, apparently letting it all sink in, before giving his head a scratch. "Wow," he finally managed to say. "This is ... quite a ... surprise! So, you weren't always a robot?" he asked me.

"Actually, I'm a semi-robotic person," I told him. "No, I used to be a student in a small town in Illinois. Then, an accident happened, and the operation that saved my life turned me into what I am today."

Kermit gave a small, forgiving nod in the direction of his chief scientist. From what events occurred earlier, I interpreted that it meant that Bunsen's job was saved. I smiled a little to myself, glad that I was able to help out.

"Hey Kermit," a new voice that I recognized as that of Scooter's called into the room, "you're wanted in the costume department for a fitting."

"I'll be right there," Kermit told his assistant before the eager young go-fer headed off. "Well, I'm afraid I must go see about something," he said to me before one last handshake. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Digit." He then glanced between Bunsen and I before speaking to me again. "I am really happy that Bunsen was able to help you out." The frog then walked to the door, waving at us as he left. "Good luck with your band!" he called. "Maybe we'll meet again some time."

The two of us watched as Kermit left. "Wonderful!" Bunsen exclaimed as he patted me on the shoulder and grinned. "Oh, I'm sure he's VERY impressed with your progress, Digit!" The scientist then started to straighten up my outfit a little so I would be all ready to go. "Now, I absolutely INSIST that we meet again ... for, um, follow-up care, naturally," he told me. "We could go to science conventions, the movies, lunch…" He cleared his throat nervously before continuing. "Of course, I, um, need to assess you in a range of ... natural interactions and locations. Yes, that's it. I do hope you'll agree to maintain contact."

"Oh, I will sir," I happily agreed. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Kermit, and Beaker, Dr. Honeydew." Suddenly, I remembered my conversation with the assistant earlier and how I could understand him. Did Bunsen know something about this? "Dr. Honeydew, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course you may!" Bunsen responded eagerly.

"About the circuitry," I questioned, "did you also design it to translate other languages?"

"Naturally!" he proudly exclaimed. "Linguistic ability is sometimes hindered when neurons are damaged. I felt it was would be unwise to merely repair such ability without improving it. I have attempted to provide a multitude of languages, including extra-terrestrial ones. You may have noticed an alien species, the Koozbanians, running around the theater. They were immensely helpful in providing alien dialects in my design."

So, not only was I able to translate human languages, but also extra-terrestrial ones as well. "Interesting," I commented, picking up a business card with the lab's number on the front. "I'll see you in the future, Dr. Honeydew!" I called over my shoulder before I left the facility with a smile on my face.


	16. Chapter 16

When the late spring of 1978 came around, we were back in Kansas on a break. Since we were touring for such a long time, we desperately needed the break time. It was great to kick back and relax in a place that we felt welcome at and were greatly familiar with. After all, a little vacation can be good for you, right?

Well, too much of a good thing is also bad for you.

Right away, we seemed to miss being in the spotlight. Sure, we wanted to relax, but there was a feeling of stillness in the air. Boredom was easy to come since there was nothing much to do in that town, so we all took up different hobbies.

Francine took up the subject of drawing, something that she only rarely did before on scraps of paper. The drawings started out small at first, but soon they began to expand into projects. Alas, almost all of her work was done in vain. As a result, many wastebaskets were filled to the brim with paper basketballs.

Flash, who was by now Francine's steady boyfriend, had a hobby of fantasizing (if you can call it that). Mostly, he pretended that he was Luke Skywalker, saving the galaxy from the evil Imperial Empire. With his light saber in hand, he battled Storm Troopers and knocked over many lamps. (I blame myself for getting him into the franchise, actually. It was my idea to drag them all to see the original movie that came out the previous year.)

Clifford and Leon decided to become more active at night. However, instead of donning costumes and fighting crime, they went to nightclubs to get more excitement. With that being said, they were usually tired when they came back at daybreak and hardly wanted to do anything else but eat and sleep.

Beard had decided to pass his talents down to younger generations. He opened up a small business where he gave guitar lessons to younger children for a reasonable price. I had the opportunity to check out a few of his classes, and his students played pretty well.

Lindbergh went back to his steady job as a repairman. Since it was getting close to summertime, a lot of people in town needed their cooling systems to be fixed, so my friend was definitely hard at work. When he wasn't working, he usually was with me, drawing up plans to build a model of either the [i]Millennium Falcon[/i] or the [i]U.S.S. Enterprise[/i]. (We never could figure out which to build.)

As for me, I took up the side interest in photography. I had temporarily abandoned the hobby thanks to the accident, but by that time I was eager to take pictures of any interesting subject that caught my eye. It seemed as if I could never be seen without a camera on hand, so I kept one on a neck strap just in case of a perfect picture moment.

On a particularly uneventful day, we were all somewhat busy with our hobbies. Beard was busy teaching his 1 'o clock group of child guitarists how to play a few chords. Clifford was channel surfing, while Leon was rummaging through the refrigerator for a quick snack. Meanwhile, Francine was trying to paint when she wasn't trying to save her easel from the misadventures of the young Jedi Knight Flash Skywalker. As this was going on, Lindbergh and I were discussing what would happen if a Klingon and a Storm Trooper somehow met each other and were involved in a fight.

"I'm telling you, Lindbergh, a Klingon would win the fight," I told my friend. "They're a brutal extra-terrestrial race that will destroy anyone or anything that gets in their way."

"But the Storm Troopers have those laser guns," the kiwi argued. "Besides, they attack in groups."

"So do Klingons," I argued back.

Before the conversation could become too in depth, the phone started to ring. (Thank goodness it rang when it did or the argument would've never been settled.)

"I'll get it," I called out to the others, picking up the receiver. "Hello, this is Digit, keyboardist of Solid Foam, and you have reached the current residence of the previously-stated band. May I ask who's calling?"

"Um, this is Kermit the Frog," the voice on the other end responded, "news reporter for Sesame Street Newsflash and host of The Muppet Show."

My eyes almost lit up in surprise. "Kermit!" I exclaimed. "But… how did you get this number?"

"Well, y'see, Bunsen's kept a track on all the numbers that you've called him from," the frog responded, "and this seemed like a reliable number that we could reach you at the time. How are things, might I ask?"

"Well..." I looked around the room once more at my fellow band members, and thought for a moment on just how we were. It was quite slow to be honest, and we were hoping to have perhaps found some work together, but that seemed far off. "...we're not doing much right now," I commented to him.

"Try doing nothing of importance," Francine deadpanned to me.

Kermit heard Francine on the line and laughed a little. "So, I take it that you are all in need of a job right about now, am I right?"

"Oh, certainly, Mr. the Frog," I gushed, happy to have heard the mention of a job once more. Sitting around and going on about Star Wars and Star Trek was getting old and fast. "But, I'm not sure about the other guys. They might not be up to doing anything..." Having said that, everyone looked up at me now, noticing I mentioned them.

"Doing what, Digit?" Clifford asked, looking over his ever-present sunglasses at myself.

Flash put down his light saber, and Francine her paintbrushes; Leon and Clifford came away from the TV and came over towards me, awaiting what I had to say about Kermit's call.

Kermit "hmm"ed a little, and stated quite simply "I need some extras for the end of our movie, The Muppet Movie."

"The Muppet Movie?" I repeated, a little in disbelief. "You just need some extras?"

"A movie?" Leon piped up, his expression reading a little more into an area which I knew wasn't appropriate. "Like, are there girls in this movie?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Leon," Francine muttered, rolling her eyes behind her pair of sunglasses.

"Actually, not only am I in need of extras," Kermit continued, "but I also need your help."

"Sure, we can help you," I told him. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, we're looking for a group of Muppets that haven't been seen or heard from in a while," the frog explained, "and we need you to find them and take them to us in California. Have you ever heard of the Land of Gorch?"

I blinked for a split second in confusion. _The Land of… what did he say, Gawrsh?_ I thought to myself. _Wait, like Goofy?_ "… you mean, we're going to Disneyland?" I asked the frog on the other end.

Kermit went silent for a few moments before speaking up again. "No, you're going to New York," he clarified.

"But Disneyland isn't in New York…" My voice trailed off as I tried to think of an explanation for all of this. "Ooh, maybe Goofy and his friends are in New York to fill out paperwork to be in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade," I stated after I thought of a solution. "I've always wanted to go to that…"

A moment of awkward silence followed, during which my friends gave me weird looks. Even a faint sound of a flipper hitting a forehead could be heard from the other end of the line.

"Not 'Gawrsh'," Kermit told me with a hint of annoyance in his voice, "'Gorch!" He even repeated it: "Gorch! Gorch! G-O-R-C-H! GORCH!"

"Oh, Gorch!" I exclaimed with realization. "That's right, the Land of Gorch!" I quickly turned to the others. "Guys, what's the Land of Gorch?" I asked them.

"The Land of Gorch," Leon responded, "is uh... the planet where I own a very expensive mansion. Oh, and there's these smokin' hot girls in bikinis, and money. I own a money pool on Gorch."

"I thought it was a Storm Trooper base," Flash stated.

"It is not!" Kermit exclaimed in response to Leon. "True, it is a planet in another galaxy, but the Land of Gorch was a sketch on Saturday Night Live."

"Wait a minute," Clifford interjected, "if that was on Saturday Night Live, how come we weren't aware of it?"

"Well, it's because the sketch was canceled about halfway through the first season," the frog answered.

"Okay, Kermit," I said excitedly to the frog, "we'll be right on it." Then I hung up before he could say another word. Immediately after the call ended, I started to pack all the necessary items for the trip to New York. "Why are you all standing around for?" I asked the others. "We've got to pack for the trip to New York! _Out there, there's a-_" I started to sing before Lindbergh picked up a wrench and held it like he was about to swing it. "I'm fine, Lindbergh," I quickly stated with widened eyes, "I'm not malfunctioning or anything."

"Just makin' sure, Digit," the kiwi replied, setting the wrench down.

* * *

By an astounding coincidence, both Clifford and Leon happened to know some of the cast members of Saturday Night Live from their nights at the clubs. The former even had John Belushi's phone number and called him for directions to the building. When he explained our purpose of going to the Big Apple, the SNL cast member seemed to be very happy about us coming and told us to pick up the Gorch cast members.

After all of us had packed (and after we told Beard about the situation after he came back) and the directions were written down, we stopped to get a quick bite to eat. Then, it was off to New York for the trip of the year.

"Okay, now take a left at the stoplight and go until you reach Rockefeller Center," Clifford directed to Lindbergh after we reached New York City after several hours. "He said that they should be waiting for us there."

We did eventually reach Rockefeller Center by late afternoon. After the long trip, we expected to see a group of Muppets welcoming us. Instead, all we saw were a two tied-up filing cabinets out by the curb with the garbage.

Lindbergh parked the car and we all filed out to investigate. On one of the cabinets was a note addressed to us. I retrieved the note and handed it to Clifford so he could read it to us.

"'Dear Clifford and friends,'" the bass player read, "'Thank you so much for coming here and ridding us of those-'" He paused, double-checking to see what a few words said. "… anywho… 'They've been around here for too long and have worn out their welcome,'" he continued. "'We'll thank you guys for this later. From your friend, John Belushi.'"

"Dang," Francine spoke up after the reading was over, "were they that bad?"

"I think that they're…" I pointed to the filing cabinets. "… I think they're in there," I whispered to the group nervously.

Sure enough, the cabinets started to rattle and grumbling could be heard from inside. Five file containers (marked "Ploobis", "Petua", "Scred", "Wisss", and "Vazh") were trying to open themselves up, but were held back in place due to the ropes.

"Come on," Lindbergh told us, "let's untie the ropes." All of us hurried to untie the ropes and to free whatever was in there. After a few minutes of labor, our efforts were rewarded as the ropes fell off of the cabinets.

The shelves suddenly sprang forward, and the creatures that appeared from them nearly scared me half to death.

"Greetings, lowly commoners!" one of the creatures (who was wearing what appeared to be a Viking helmet) exclaimed. "I, King Ploobis, the almighty, the most worthy, the most…"

"The most loud-mouthed, the most ignorant, the biggest tub of lard," another creature, this one female, added.

"Thank you, dear," Ploobis said to the creature who was apparently his wife.

"I'm surprised you could squeeze out of that filing cabinet without breaking it," the queen commented.

One of the creatures whispered something to Leon about something about smoke. From the sound of him, he probably was a hippie or something.

"We're free? We're free!" yet another one of the creatures exclaimed. Then he started to grovel at my feet. "Oh thank you, kind sirs!"

"Uh… you're welcome?" I replied to him. Suddenly, I felt quite uncomfortable around these people. Plus, I could just feel Francine glaring at the grovelling creature.

"Ooh, the city looks so beautiful," a female creature admired the city. "Let's go shopping!" she exclaimed and started to wander off.

Clifford put his arms around her to prevent her from leaving. "Just think of the fancy Hollywood threads you could get your lovely little mittens on, baby," he told her.

"Hollywood?" the girl gasped. "That sounds so glamorous!"

"The fame," agreed one of the male creatures.

"The money," Ploobis added.

"The parties, the glamour!" the queen exclaimed.

"And the scandals," the hippie stated, "don't forget about the scandals."

There was a pause between the Gorch group. "What about Hollywood?" Ploobis asked.

"We got ya a gig," Beard said to the group.

"It's time to leave the cheap nightly weekend cesspool of lameness and strike a pose in front of cinema greatness!" Leon exclaimed.

"To hell with all of that!" Ploobis suddenly yelled. "Let's all go clubhopping!"

The other Gorch members reluctantly agreed with their king. As for myself, I felt a sudden jolt of nervousness, and my face (and myself) became emotionless.

"Come on, you guys," Clifford told the Gorch group, "we need to get you guys to Hollywood, pronto!"

"And what if we refuse to do it, huh?" Ploobis argued.

I stepped up behind the king, emotionless, and used that opportune moment to give him a Vulcan nerve pinch. Ploobis immediately fell unconscious to the sidewalk. The others stared at me, both amazed (the band) and fearful (the Gorch group).

"Live long and prosper," I said, saluting to them.

"Digit, why did you do that?" Lindbergh asked me, still shocked.

"Jim, Edith Keeler must die," I stated to no one in particular. Then I gazed at the servant girl suspiciously.

The girl blinked. "What did I do?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing, sweet thing," Leon said, putting an arm around her. "Come on, let's get you to the car…"

With that, everyone started to head back to the car, Lindbergh and the male creature carrying Ploobis to the back pf the vehicle. I followed them, my face still emotionless.

"No one has ever done that to his royal pain before," the creature commented as he and my kiwi friend set the king down in the back. "Maybe he could teach me that…"

"I have tried, Captain," I said to him before assuming my seat in the car.

"Boy, this is gonna be one heck of a road trip," I heard Clifford mutter after everyone had loaded up into the car. He then turned on the ignition and we were off to Hollywood.


	17. Chapter 17

"Urngh, what hit me?" Ploobis asked groggily as he woke up from the nerve pinch I gave him earlier. As he began to rub his neck, he seemed to start remembering the previous events and became angry. "Scred!" He grabbed his lackey by the throat. "Scred, I coulda been killed!"

"I understand, your grouchiness," the creature now known as Scred managed to choke out.

"I'll sue them, Scred!" the king ranted on. "I'll sue them all! Starting with the guy that almost killed me! I'll get them!" he roared, starting to spring forward after us.

He suddenly collapsed to the floor thanks to the nerve pinch that his wife gave him. "What can I say?" the queen stated after he was unconscious. "I'm a quick study."

As for me, I just raised my (nonexistent) eyebrow as a response while Lindbergh continued to work on me in the car. The Vulcan in me had still not ceased to leave as the car traveled down the road to Hollywood.

It seemed as if all of us were doing our own thing at the moment. Clifford was driving, and Beard was listening to the radio. Flash and the hippie, Wisss, were playing cards, while Francine was comfortably snuggled up against her boyfriend, trying to take a nap. Leon was busy flirting with Vazh, the servant girl. Scred, after gasping for air, was trying to start a sing-along. The queen was trying to read a book, and her husband was still knocked out cold.

As Lindbergh continued to repair me, I felt the need to speak. "Space, the final frontier," I began.

"Oh no, not this again," I heard Clifford mutter.

"These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise," I continued. "Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations…"

"To boldly go where no man has gone before," the others recited with me, most of them half-heartedly.

"We get it!" Francine suddenly exclaimed in exasperation. "You're a Star Trek fan! You're also a Star Wars fan, a sci-fi fan, and a geek!" She then lied back down, trying to fall asleep again.

"Hey, Digit, good news," Lindbergh told me, "I think I've fixed you!" He then flipped a switch. "That oughta do it!"

"I really don't see how that is going to help!" I argued in C-3PO's voice. "Surrender is a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme circumstances! The Empire may be gracious enough to…"

Lindbergh quickly flipped another switch. "Oops," he said, "maybe not…"

Scred crawled over to the seat to the empty place beside me. "Why not cross that wire with that jack over there?" he advised.

"It wasn't my fault, sir, please don't deactivate me," I apologized. "I told him not to go, but he's faulty, malfunctioning. Kept babbling on about his mission."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea for now," the bird said to the creature with concern.

"Hey guys," Clifford called to the back seats, "we're taking a pit stop in the town up ahead. If you need to go to the bathroom or buy some snacks for the road, now's your chance."

"Hey, my darlin' Petua," King Ploobis said to his wife, waking up again, "what's happening? You know, I'm not up to speed on this world yet. In fact, I felt like I've been hit with a ton of bricks. Maybe we can explore the universe together, huh?"

"We'll never reach an Earth base with him aboard," I told Clifford, emotionless, referring to the king that just regained consciousness. "You heard the mathematics of it. In a month, he'll have as much in common with us as we'd have with a ship full of white mice."

Queen Petua was apparently amused that she could make her kingly husband say different phrases like I could. So, as a result, she nerve pinched him for the rest of the trip, making a game out of it.

The car then pulled up to a gas station and a convenience store and almost everyone filed out of the car to fill up the gas tank, go to the bathroom, or buy snacks for the road. Pretty soon, all that were left in the car were myself, Lindbergh, Scred, and the unconscious King Ploobis.

"I'm gonna go inside to buy us some snacks," Lindbergh told me, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. "I'll see you when I get back!" With that, he left for the convenience store, leaving me alone with Ploobis and Scred.

At that very moment, the king was startled awake. "Don't eat the kitten!" he shouted.

Scred stared at him in confusion. "Your Majesty?"

The king looked over at his lackey in relief. "Oh, Scred," he said, "I had the most awful dream ... we need to talk to the Mighty Favog."

"But, Your Highness, he's not in the car," the creature servant pointed out.

"I KNOW he's not in the car!" Ploobis exclaimed as he strangled Scred. "We need to call him up!"

The Gorch servant started to think. "Cell phones haven't been invented yet…" he muttered. (How Scred knew that statement, I'll never know.) The creature suddenly got an idea. "However…" He nodded in my general direction. "…this guy is communication central! He can pick up and transmit any signal. I'm sure he can contact the Mighty Favog."

"Don't be stupid, Scred," the king told him. "What we need is some sort of device that transmits sound across a long distance." He suddenly was inspired. "Hey, I bet Digit here can contact the Mighty Favog!"

His servant sighed in exasperation. "You're a genius, Your thick-headedness," he congratulated half-heartedly.

"Of course I am," Ploobis said with a smirk as he bowed.

I should've spoke up during the conversation in protest. But, all that came out of my mouth before they advanced on me was, "A force that could hurl us 990.7 light-years away and at that distance still be able to sabotage our main source of energy will not be waiting around to be taken into custody."

"Yeah, yeah, hold still," King Ploobis said to me before he and Scred started to fiddle around with my controls.

After several broadcasting stations (including some in various foreign languages) were relayed to them, a gong sounded and I went through a major voice and personality change. "DIS IS THE MIGHTY FAVOG," I greeted them in a mystical voice which was very much unlike my own. "WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY SLUMBER?"

Ploobis raised his hand and spoke. "Hey, it's me."

"YOU?" I paused before continuing. "I THOUGHT I GOT RID OF YOU SCHMUCKS A LONG TIME AGO…"

The king of Gorch waved his hand dismissively. "Nah…"

"We were just locked away in filing cabinets for a while, that's all," the other creature spoke up.

My mystical voice from beyond let out a sigh of annoyance. "WHADDAYA WANT?"

"We wanna be rich an' famous," Ploobis plainly stated.

"Yeah, and to sing and dance and to make people happy," Scred added. After the king gave him a weird look, he continued, "It says so in the script." He then held up a script for The Muppet Movie to show Ploobis and I.

"I KNOW THE ANSWER TO DAT PROBLEM: GO TA HOLLYWOOD," I answered, "AND TAKE ME ALONG WITH YOUS."

"... oh, boy…" The king suddenly became nervous. "Well, you see, erm, tell 'im Scred," he said, pushing his lackey towards me.

"Well... we're already going to Hollywood," the servant stated meekly.

"AND YOU SCHMUCKS DIDN'T INVITE ME ALONG?" I bellowed.

"Hey, you weren't in the filing cabinets with us!" Scred argued in defense.

"DAT'S BECAUSE NO ONE DISRESPECTS THE MIGHTY FAVOG," I told them.

"Yes, O Mighty Favog," Ploobis meekly stated as Scred hid behind them. "We know, nobody disrespects you, and we're sorry!"

For some reason, I liked to see them like this. It was new, and I liked it. "ALL RIGHT, LISTEN UP, YOUS TWO," I finally responded in my other-worldly voice after they had been cowering for a while. "I, DA MIGHTY FAVOG, HAVE DECIDED TO BE GENEROUS AND GRANT YOUR WISH." There was a long pause afterward, during which I chuckled a few times. "BUT IN RETURN FOR LEAVIN' ME BEHIND, YOU MUST AGREE TO CERTAIN… CONDITIONS."

"Anything, your mystical bigness," Scred happily replied.

"Yeah, no problem," Ploobis said with a ready nod.

"GET A REAL JOB" was all that I said to them.

There was silence. The two Gorch denizens stared at me in shock, as if they didn't even know what I had just said. And then their voices nearly shattered my eardrums a few moments later.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The two hurried to try to open the car door to get out with no avail. They tried many things to open the door, including resorting to using Scred as a battering ram. Obviously, that didn't work.

A gong sounded again, and the spirit that was in my body left me, causing me to have a slip of consciousness. Suddenly, I felt as if I was being picked up. The sound of pattering feet could be heard underneath me. I opened my eyes just in time to see the door open and for me to be suddenly tossed out.

"Help! I think I'm melting!" I yelled in alarm as I fell out of the car. "This is all your fault!" I exclaimed, directing my angry comment towards the two aliens that were still inside the car.

Fortunately for me, I landed on something soft. It was feathery, like a pillow, and it was also a little plump. I propped myself up with my arms to see the form underneath me…

… and I came face-to-face with my best friend.

At first, neither of us spoke. It was such an awkward moment that neither of us found our voices until a little while later.

"Wow," Lindbergh commented, "this is a… weird position…"

"That position, Mr. Scott," I told the kiwi, "would not only be unavailing, but also... undignified."

"Erm, yeah," my friend agreed, trying to get out from underneath me. "This is kinda awkward…"

Both of us looked up to see that most of the others had returned from their errands and were staring at us in confusion/shock/some other weird emotion that I couldn't figure out. Then there was a period of awkward silence, during which none of us spoke.

"Man, I don't even wanna know," Wisss stated, breaking the silence.

"You said it," Leon agreed as he put an arm around Vazh. "C'mon, Vazh baby, let's get in the car."

Everyone then started to climb into the car as if nothing had happened. Lindbergh and I stood up, both red from embarrassment, and took our seats in the car. "We're going to look back at this years from now and laugh," I whispered to him. (I still don't find it funny.)

Before Clifford turned on the ignition, a familiar mystical voice from beyond sounded throughout the entire vehicle. "DIS IS DA MIGHTY FAVOG," it announced, "REMINDIN' YOUS GUYS AND GALS TO BUCKLE UP. THE TRIP TO HOLLYWOOD IS GONNA BE BUMPY."

"Hold up!" Clifford interrupted. "How do you know this? We're hardly even halfway there."

"YOU DARE QUESTION THE MIGHTY FAVOG?" the voice asked our bass player.

"What is this, anyway?" Clifford looked back at me. "Digit, did you pick up another psychic radio show again?"

I shook my head frantically. "I think you better listen to what he says, though," I told him. "This guy sounds serious."

"DAMN RIGHT, I AM," the voice of the Mighty Favog responded. "IF YOUS DON'T SHUT UP," he told Clifford, "I'LL PLACE A CURSE ON YOUS."

"Oh yeah?" Clifford asked. "Like what?"

"YOU WILL BE ON TWO OF THEM NEW MUPPET SHOWS IN THE FUTURE," the mystical voice from beyond predicted. "BOTH OF THEM WILL BE CANCELLED."

"… yeah," our bass player said nonchalantly, "like that will ever-"

"SHUT UP!" the voice interrupted. "THE MIGHTY FAVOG HAS SPOKEN. NOW BUCKLE UP AND TURN THE CAR ON."

All of us obeyed what the voice said (even Clifford) and we all waited as our driver turned on the ignition.

"HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS," the all-mighty booming voice announced, "IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE."

Suddenly, the car drove itself forward into a portal that magically appeared in front of us. Inside the portal, all sorts of colors swirled around the vehicle as it made its high-speed journey through the strange and magical portal.

Everyone was hanging on for their lives, either to each other (in Francine and Flash's case, as well as Leon and Vazh's) or to the seats (basically, the rest of us). In fact, the only one that stayed perfectly calm through all of this was Wisss. When I glanced over at him, the hairy creature was just sitting there with a spaced-out look on his face, just as calm as can be.

Up ahead, the swirling tunnel of the lava lamp colors opened up to a street. "THIS IS YOUR STOP," the voice finally announced. "THANK YOU FOR TRAVELIN' WITH ME, THE MIGHTY FAVOG. AND, UH, DON'T FORGET ABOUT OUR AGREEMENT, YOUS TWO," he added before a gong sounded.

Both Ploobis and Scred gulped. They obviously did not want the results of what was going to happen after the trip.


	18. Chapter 18

"That smart-aleck Favog," King Ploobis muttered as we drove out of the portal and onto the street.

"MIGHTY Favog, your angriness," Scred corrected.

"How DARE he suggest that we get jobs," the king pouted, thinking that it was unfair punishment.

"Man, I don't know who that guy was," Clifford started, "but I ought to give him a piece of my mind. Imagine, me ending up on two cancelled shows… Can you even picture me on two cancelled shows?"

I wasn't concerned about their worries. All I could think of was how we could leave a good impression on Kermit and the rest of the Muppets. We couldn't afford to mess up, I knew that much.

"Whoa, those bricks are, like, parallel," Wisss commented, his eyes on an object straight ahead of the car.

"Who cares?" Leon asked, wanting to enjoy his time with Vazh before they had to part.

"No, WALL!" Francine suddenly yelled, pointing straight ahead at what Wisss was looking at.

Sure enough, there in front of us was a wall. It was solid, made out of brick, and we were approaching it quickly.

A lot of things then started to happen at once. First we all started to scream. Then Vazh fainted into Leon's arms and Clifford hurried to gain control of the steering wheel.

"Aw man, I'm already cancelled!" our driver exclaimed as we approached the wall.

"Vazh baby, wake up!" Leon was desperately trying to get the servant girl awake.

"Flash, I love you!" the drummer shouted before clinging to her boyfriend.

"I love you too, Francine!" Flash spoke back before he closed his eyes and held his girlfriend close to him.

"Well, that's ONE payment I can avoid!" the king happily exclaimed as we approached certain death.

"Put your hands in the air!" his servant added. "It's more fun!"

"Oh, I KNEW I should've installed bigger bumpers on the car when I had the chance!" Lindbergh regretted.

I suddenly heard music that grew increasingly louder as we approached the wall. It was very melodic and almost angelic. _"Someday you'll find it… the Rainbow Connection…"_

_Is this really the end?_ I thought to myself. _Am I really going to heaven?_

_"The lovers…"_

"This is it… goodbye, guys," I bid farewell to them, closing my eyes and awaiting my fate.

_"The dreamers, and-"_

Oddly enough, I didn't hear the car crash into the wall. What I did hear was the car crashing into something else, accompanied by a multitude of screams.

There was a sudden halt, and I felt myself lean forward abruptly. (I probably would've flown out the windshield if it hadn't been for my seatbelt.) I kept thinking to myself, _What happened? Why did we stop?_

I opened my eyes and saw that we were all still safe and sound inside the car. As if that wasn't strange enough, the area outside of the car had become the inside of a movie studio with panicked Muppets running around for cover.

I blinked. Muppets? Movie studio? Had we all arrived at our destination safely?

Or was this really heaven and would Elvis suddenly appear singing one of his greatest hits?

All of us sat there in shock for a while, not speaking a word. It was a miracle that we made it alive, but did we destroy something else in the process?

After moments of letting all of this sink in, Beard finally spoke up. "Hey, I think we should get out of the car and scope the place out," he said with a hint of nervousness, unbuckling his seat belt. We all followed his lead, seeing as it was our only other option. Slowly, all of us emerged from the car and stepped onto the solid ground of the studio. I took some relief in that I could at least stand on my own two feet.

At the sound of various mumbles, I turned around. What I saw was the ruined set pieces that the car ran through, as well as various props scattered around. Various Muppets were among them, but none appeared to be in any pain.

"That was great!" exclaimed the unmistakable voice of the Great Gonzo. "Let's try it once more from the top!"

"GONZO!" the others yelled in exasperation.

"B-but… if we suspend the car from the top," the weirdo explained, "we could REALLY make a killing!"

"That's what I'm afraid of!" Kermit stated in a worried voice.

"Aw man, what a rip-off!" I heard Scred angrily complain from behind me.

I cautiously approached Kermit and the rest of the group, which by now included some of the cast of Sesame Street. "K-Kermit… I'm awfully sorry about what happened," I apologized for the rest of my group. "We all are…"

The frog looked like he was about to explode. I hid behind Lindbergh, scared for the well-being of our group. The rest of the Muppets' eyes widened, waiting for what was to come.

Then, Kermit's eyes settled on a majority of the kids from Sesame Street that were assembled at the studio. He then observed us with shock. The poor amphibian hadn't a clue about what to say.

"At least everyone's okay," a tall, yellow bird calmly spoke up.

"… you're right, Big Bird," Kermit commented. "Everyone is okay… and that's all that matters…"

He took a few moments to let it all sink in. When the frog in charge finally did manage to calm down, he managed to put a smirk on his face as he addressed me. "Digit, we had a parking lot out back."

I felt my cheeks redden as I started to rub the back of my head, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah… um… right."

Kermit chuckled for a brief moment before turning to the rest of the band and the crew from Gorch. "Hi-ho," he started to introduce himself, "I'm-"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A-" Petua started to yell at the frog, making him nervous.

"You got any LOW ones?" Ploobis interjected. "We've been on a really long drive…"

The frog gulped nervously. "Good grief…"

An awkward silence soon followed. A REALLY awkward silence…

"Um… shouldn't we continue filming?" Gonzo suggested after a long period of silence.

"But the scene's ruined," Kermit claimed.

"Ruined?" the blue daredevil repeated. "Why, you should use that footage in the movie! Personally, I believe that it was one of our finest moments…"

Kermit looked around. The others, all good friends of his, shrugged. He did so as well. "Why not?" he asked rhetorically. He jabbed a spindly green finger in Gonzo's torso. "But YOU'RE the scapegoat."

"Whoo-hoo!" Gonzo was more than happy to be a part of all of this. He then walked away from the crowd, spouting off a hundred ideas for incorporating the footage.

Thanks to the combined efforts of ourselves and the rest of the Muppets, the movie ended up looking how it does today. The blue weirdo, suspended by balloons, crashed into the rainbow in the background. The chaos unfolded from there, with the set falling apart and the Muppets falling down. Crazy Harry messing with the switchboard was a combined idea between the dynamite expert, Lindbergh, and myself. We had a lot of fun filming that part.

When the chaos settled down, Lindbergh and I triggered the lighting to illuminate a rainbow into the studio. Kermit turned to the camera and began to sing._ "Life's like a movie, write your own ending…"_

_"Keep believing, keep pretending,"_ the other Muppets joined in. The camera then pulled back to reveal a huge crowd of Muppets singing along, including a majority of the cast from The Muppet Show, Sesame Street, and even the Gorch crew. _"We've done just what we've set out to do… thanks to the lovers… the dreamers… and you!"_

The story of the movie had ended, but my own tale was still to be continued._  
_


	19. Chapter 19

The 1980s soon came in with major changes in store for all of us. In the news, Mt. St. Helens erupted, Ronald Reagan was shot, and various controversial topics were being discussed. The music scene was changing as well with rock bands becoming abundant. As a band. we found out that we adjusted to this rather well and preferred it better to the previous decade. (Sorry, Elton John, but the 80s is the decade that I belong in.) The fashion scene also took a major turn and Flash, Francine and I finally found the right styles for each of us. I took on an interest in jackets that were semi-wide at the shoulders, mostly with numbers on them (partially due to my adjacent interest of the growing field of technology), Flash was into the big hair trend, and Francine decided to dye her black hair red and to take on a neon-like wardrobe.

One of the reasons that we liked this decade so much was for the music. We figured out that our style was more in tune with the new decade. Naturally, we started to play a lot more songs from the '80s at our concerts and also tried our hand at song writing.

Unfortunately, the song from the '70s that I had written a few lines for had yet to reach completion. Naturally, a lot of frustration came about.

"Oh, I'll _never_ get it right, _never_!" I banged my head against my keyboard, feeling hopeless.

"Digit," Francine finally spoke up, "lay off watching Sesame Street for a while, okay?"

"Yeah, man, chill out," Clifford agreed.

"I _can't_ chill out!" I yelled in anguish, lifting my head up from its position on the keys. Clearing my throat, I spoke softer. "I'm sorry I yelled at you guys, but... Don't you realize that I've had this song stuck in my head for about a decade and can only come up with… _this_." I handed Clifford a piece of paper.

"'Every dark night brings me to another day,'" the bass player read aloud. "Question mark, question mark, question mark… 'Hey hey (Hey hey), What can I say?' … yeah, this has the makings of a good song, man," he finally stated as he nodded. "I don't know why your worried 'bout it."

"It's because I can't think up of anything else," I replied, hiding my face in my hands.

"You know, you could've asked for our help, Digit," Beard offered. "We could've come up with some stuff for it."

"Yeah, how about, 'And then it's time for full moon again'?" Francine suggested.

"'_A-a-and the sun bakes all my skin off,_'" Beard sang. All of us had a good laugh at that.

"'Though seriously I prefer night life,'" Clifford offered once things started to calm down.

I took a few deep breaths, bits of laughter still escaping my throat. "Thanks for the help, guys," I said to them. "I really appreciate it."

"It's all cool, man," Clifford replied. "We'll probably have the song done before the end of the decade at this rate." Then he laughed at his own little quip, as did the rest of us.

* * *

So we sent the song idea to Mark Radice, all of us hoping that he would turn it into a hit song for Solid Foam. Still, even though song writing wasn't my strongest point (and still isn't), I still had some other tricks in the creative department. Not only was I pretty handy with the technological set-ups and workings of electronics and such, but I also took to designing a few contraptions and creations on the side.

Of all the things that I've designed over the years, there has been one creation in particular that I consider to be my greatest work. He actually started out as my nameless imaginary friend from my childhood. Whenever I felt sad or alone, he always cheered me up by shape-shifting into something fun.

Now, my childhood playmate was becoming my own personal project. After finding some sketches that I had drawn of the creature at various times, I worked hard at him for two years, and I finally came up with what I thought to be a stable version of my creation. He was very blocky and still in a primitive form, but he was fully functional. It was time to bring him online.

"State my designation," my creation asked in an emotionless voice just before the action was complete. (I included in his coding the ability to talk to that he can communicate with myself and others easily.)

"I'm sorry," I told the computerized project, "I don't have a name for you just yet."

"Name pending," he responded. "I am Untitled Program."

I blushed, slightly embarrassed. "Well, it's only temporary."

"The designation is for your convenience. It does not improve my function in any way."

Since it didn't take up that much space, I kept the project stored on a floppy disk. If I had kept it on the hard drive, I would've risked complete destruction of the code. Besides, a floppy disk could be kept in a safe place and made the project more secure.

At the beginning month of the new year of '86, something was happening to my creation. It was nearly imperceptible at first. The program would take a few seconds longer to respond. File searches that took a minute soon took a minute and a half. Now that I think of it, even his responses took longer, as if one was slowing down a recording ever so slightly.

I hardly remember anything after that. The only things that I recall were Lindbergh fixing me and the others asking me questions: "Why didn't you come to rehearsal?" "You all right in the head, Digit?" "Why the heck did you call me Sharon?" (Just to name a few.)

Why were all these questions being asked? I always remembered to go to rehearsals. I was perfectly fine in the head. But what caused the Sharon question? Why don't I remember all of this?

And another thing: Right when I start to remember the events, I remember that something that I had been designing, the translocation button, had already been constructed. Lindbergh later explained that he had to make it from my plans to get it to work. The translocation button was designed to get a person into a piece of machinery with ease. At the time, I didn't know what it was being used for. I suspected that Lindbergh had used it to possibly fix the TV or a VCR.

Anyway, soon Lindbergh and I were discussing how to repair my malfunctioning project. "This could be dangerous for its health," the kiwi observed. "Maybe we should use the translocation button to get inside and fix it like we did with you."

"You _went_ inside of me and fixed me?" I replied in shock.

"What else was I supposed to do? You were malfunctioning."

This caused me to bite my lower lip. "Well, I think that we should hold off on repairing him for now. My project and I are a lot alike, you know: We both have feelings and privacy issues. Besides. I don't mess with your tool kits, and you don't mess with my head unless I really need repairing, right?"

"But you did really need it," Lindbergh spoke up as we both walked into the living room, where the television was turned on to the launch of the famed space shuttle _Challenger_. Everyone else was gathered around the small screen, watching the take off.

"I know that now," a sigh escaped my throat. "Besides, I think that the project can wait. He knows patience. What's the worst thing that can happen in that time period?"

Suddenly, the form of smoke caught my eyes on the TV screen. Both of us quickly glued our eyes to the screen as we saw that the space shuttle had exploded.

"Oh… my…" I squeaked. My eyes looked nervously from the television screen to Lindbergh to the direction of my room and back again. "I think I'm going to… check up on something real quick, Lindbergh. It'll only take a few moments." I hurried back to my room and quickly started to make major adjustments to improve the project's state of being.

After that, I worked my heart out (not literally, but it felt like it) to repair my creation. Even though I was starting with the original code, I knew that the work was going to be long and hard, so I had to prepare myself beforehand.

One of the first things that I did was change the project's voice speed and pitch. I quickly figured out what pitches worked with which speeds and finally found a suitable range (after much trial and error). The project's voice soon became stable enough for me to continue with other edits.

A problem that I noticed with the first version was that I couldn't access files with much ease. Naturally, it took me a while to fix that problem, but he was finally able to access any file with ease. Unfortunately, the first file that he accessed was a bank account. After serious scolding and code arrangements, I was finally satisfied with having the program access files that have a limited range of data at that moment.

As I was making the above edits, I fooled around with the design of the project on paper. I wanted his overall design to be more circular instead of big and blocky. The "hat" that I designed for him would be almost spiral-like with detachable parts that floated together. The rectangle that I had placed for decoration soon became a detailed bowtie. The orange rectangles that I had placed at his tail soon became very detailed wings, and I gave him the ability of flight and transformation, just like my childhood friend of long ago.

The original project had little to no personality and was emotionless. I wanted him to be more cheerful and to be able to express his emotions better. The coding process for the personality, as well as the changing of the overall design, took the rest of the year and a few more months to complete.

During this period of time, I didn't get as much sleep as I should have. I worked on my project during the night and only rested from the time I finished a part until somebody called me for breakfast. I hardly ate anything at meals because of my tiredness and usually I woke up with my head beside the keyboard.

It was on one of these days that I woke up to a telephone ringing. _Oh, who could be calling at this hour?_ I thought, glancing at the clock that read 9:15 AM. With a stretch and a yawn, I stood up from my chair and staggered to the phone. "This is the Ghostbusters," I mumbled tiredly into the receiver. "How may we be of service?"

The person on the other end paused. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to contact Digit," the voice of Kermit spoke. "I must have the wrong number."

"No, Kermit, it's me, Digit," I explained to him. "I'm just… a little tired is all."

"Maybe so," the frog on the other line responded, "but what's the deal with your voice? You sound like Teeny Little Superguy to me."

This comment made me a little bit more alert. "… what are you talking about, Kermit?" I asked, making my voice more audible to him. "I don't sound like him at all."

Suddenly I blinked and looked around. Surprisingly, there _was_ a voice that sounded like Teeny Little Superguy… and he was saying exactly what I was saying! "Kermit, I think he's around here somewhere," I finally said to him, a little spooked out.

An audible sigh sounded from the other end. "Never mind your voice," he said to me. "I called because I think you should come audition for a new program that we're working on. It's called Inner Tube TV, and it's all about technology and a celebration of modern entertainment. I think it's right up your alley, if I recall correctly. What do you say? Are you interested?"

I didn't have to think twice about my answer. "Sure, Kermit," I replied in my strange, new voice, "I'll be there."


	20. Chapter 20

"Lindbergh, I'm sorry for having you doing this," I apologized to my friend, who was driving me to the building where I was supposed to audition. About four days had passed since Kermit's phone call.

"Aw, it's okay, Digit," the kiwi replied. "I always give you lifts to and from work. It's no big deal."

"No, what I mean is…" A sigh escaped my throat. With this new, strange voice that I had, it was kind of difficult to express my emotions.

"Something wrong, Digit?" Lindbergh asked.

"Well, it's just that it doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one out of all of us who's going to audition for this project," I explained. "I'm afraid that you guys might be upset because you don't get a chance."

"The others won't be upset," my best friend reassured me. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, Digit. In fact, we'll all be cheering you on." He pulled into the parking lot and found a space to drop me off. "Just try your best. I know you can do it."

"Thank you, Lindbergh," I said with a smile as I stepped out of the car. "I'll call you all with the results."

"Okay, see you when I pick you up!" Before he closed the door, he paused. "And you're sure that your voice will be okay for this? You don't want a last minute-"

"Lindbergh, I'll be fine," I responded in my raspy, stuffed-up-sounding voice. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that they'll only be interviewing based on skill and presentation."

"Well, good luck with everything then, Digit! Be sure to tell me and the others all about it when we see you next!" With the closing of the passenger door, he drove off to get back to the rest of the band.

I turned around and faced the double doors that lead to the inside. Taking a deep breath, I calmed my nerves down and stepped onto the tiled floors of the interior of the building.

I had little difficulty finding the waiting room. (There were signs that guided me to the waiting room door.) As I stepped in, I noticed right away that this was one of the most strangest assemblages that I had ever seen in my life. There were mechanics, punk rockers, big haired people, musicians, people with many decorative piercing items on their body… and that was just to name about a half of them!

I saw an empty seat next to a woman with pink hair and silver skin and decided to sit down. At first, I just looked around, glancing at all that were gathered. Then, something told me that I should make some conversation with at least one person here. After all, I could make a new friend.

Before I could find someone to talk to, the woman next to me spoke up. "Ello dere, mon. Whey yuh name?"

At the time, I was still nervous about talking to people I didn't know, especially females. I was puzzled by the woman's words at first, but I still managed to make out a majority of the words. "Oh, my name," I repeated to myself. "Erm, my name is Digit. And yours, miss?"

A wide grin formed on her face, and she pointed to herself as she talked. "Maya. I 'ope ta get a job 'ere."

"What a coincidence," I replied with a smile. "I'm trying out for a job here, too. What do you hope to get?"

"Well, I 'ope ta get somet'ing in de way of musical direction." Maya shrugged and added, "I can play de guitar an' stuff too, so, dere's dat."

"Very interesting, Maya," I commented. "I'm a musician myself, you know. I play the keyboards. Maybe we'll end up working together."

"Whoa, mon, dat's bad!" she exclaimed with a grin.

Based on her tone of voice and facial expression, I interpreted that what Maya said was a good thing. "Thank you! You know, it is very nice to meet a fellow musician."

Maya laughed and patted me on the back. "You di first one I meet ta get dat bad is good," she told me. "'Ope ya get di job, mon. Can't wait ta work wit' you."

"Likewise," I stated with a smile.

"Meh, look at ya…" a deep voice suddenly spoke up. "I'm a _real_ man! Ain't no way you can experience anythin' worth livin' for like _that_."

Maya and I searched until we saw a old, bald drummer staring at me. It was rather awkward and odd; why was this person talking to me? "… I beg your pardon, sir?" I asked him, trying to be polite.

"Yer computer chip-a-ma-whatzits not compute, wire-head?" he questioned me. "I _said_ yer nothin' but a toaster!"

I've never been the one to get involved in fights. In fact, I usually stay far away from them. Still, this elderly man was insulting my state of being, and I had to defend it. "... well, at least a toaster is _useful_," I told the man, standing up and narrowing my eyes. "At least a toaster _works_. Heh, I bet the last time you were employed, you rode a brontosaurus to work. Tell me, what was it like chipping rocks for Slate?"

"I'll show ya what a real man can do!" the man cried in anger. Before I could speak again, the man swung at my jaw with his fist and hit his target. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance but to no avail.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" I heard a spiky-haired, skin-pierced male's voice yell repeatedly. He was obviously enjoying the drummer's and my fight so much that he wanted more.

After rubbing my sore jaw, I came to my feet and would've been knocked down again if a blonde male didn't step in between us. He separated us and pushed each of us in chairs that were on opposite sides of the room. I don't know how the drummer felt afterwards, but I know that there was a jolt through my entire body when I hit the chair.

The blonde male dusted off his hands. "And _that's_ where violence will get you," he simply stated.

"Cease and sekkle!" Maya added, standing up from her chair.

"Hey listen," the man suddenly said to Maya, "if you're not busy this week, how about you and me getting together sometime?"

The pink-haired girl grinned. "Come yah…" She pulled the blonde close to her like she was about to kiss him and then slapped him. "Stupid lagga head bwoy! As if I would jus' fall down an' worship di groun' you walk on!"

Without warning, the door that (supposedly) led to the auditioning room flung open. Hurrying out was a certain famous amphibian, who looked like he needed to be somewhere else in a jiffy. Scurrying after him was a red-haired girl with glasses, who I presumed to be his assistant for the auditioning process.

"Mister Kermit," she called after him, stopping at the door leading out into the hallway, "what about all of these people? They're here for the auditions!"

A screech could be heard and the sound of flippers came running back into the room, followed by the appearance of Kermit the Frog. "I'm sorry, everyone," he apologized to the group. "Something just came up that I have to take care of with someone else. So, I'll move this process along in the fastest way I know possible…" The frog then pointed at two mechanics. "You, you," - he pointed at the man with metal pierced into his face - "you," - he pointed to the blonde man - "you," - he pointed to Maya - "you," - he pointed to me - "you," - and finally he pointed to the elderly drummer - "and you. You're all hired! Work starts the day after tomorrow around 7 AM. If you guys can get there earlier, that would be great. We'll start working as soon as most everyone gets to the studio. I'll see you all there!" He then resumed his dash out the door.

The bespectacled girl nodded. "Yes, what Mr. Kermit said! Congratulations to those who got the jobs, and a good try to the others who showed up!" She absentmindedly glanced at her watch and gasped. "Oh dear, I forgot I have to turn in that assignment in history class!" Turning back to us, she added, "Um, sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I've gotta hurry back to the film school in a little bit. My professor would fail me if I don't turn this in on time!" With that, the girl dashed back into the audition room and closed the door.

I blinked. _What just happened?_ I thought to myself. _Was I hired on the spot? And who was that just now...?_

"Meh… it's better than unemployment, I guess," the drummer shrugged.

"Dat's a relief," Maya sighed, glad that she now had a job.

The blonde male punched his fist into the air. "Righteous, man!"

Maya, the drummer and I then started to take our leave, my mind focusing on getting to the nearest phone and calling Lindbergh with the results. "Wait, guys! Come back!" the blonde man called to us. Before any of us could answer, we were pulled back into the room in a tight hug. "Isn't this great? We're totally a band now! We should celebrate!"

"Don't t'ink dis is a date, mon," Maya scoffed, getting out of the man's grasp, "'cause dere ain't no way I'd go out wit' you."

"Yeah, whatever. 'Long as you got some Bud on ya," the drummer replied.

As for myself, I had to think about it for a while. Of course I wanted to accept the offer, but there was the issue with my voice. Would it be okay for me to speak around them like that? (I knew Maya had already accepted me with my new voice, but still…)

"Hey robo-dude," the blonde began, snapping me out of my daze, "are you in?"

"It's Digit, actually," I said in my new, more robotic voice. "I'd be more than happy to go with you all."

"Awesome!" the male responded. "The name's Duke. Nice to be working with you."

* * *

As much as I try not to remember it, the party the night before filming began still lingers in the back of my mind. Everyone was having a good time, of course, but something felt wrong to me. It was as if something was nagging me on about how I shouldn't be there.

"Somet'ing wrong, Digit?"

Without looking up, I answered the person who questioned me. "No, nothing's wrong with me, Maya. I'm just thinking to myself is all."

"Dat so, mon?" she asked, sitting beside me at the table. "Come on now, the i kyan tell your bredren Maya."

I glanced over at the pink-haired woman. "I really hope you don't think I'm being rude or anything," I told her, "but ... well ... I confess I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

I nodded and began to express my concerns. "You see, I have friends who have been with me for a long time, who know my capabilities and some of the issues I have occasionally. None of you know me." I looked over at the old drummer, who was lying down on a table. "And, to be quite sincere, I really don't think I can be comfortable around that guy. It's like he hates me just because of what I am."

"Don' worry 'bout him, mon," she told me. "Dose dat don' wanna be a team playah don' las' lon'."

"Of course, he has a right to his opinions…" I noted, my voice trailing off.

"But ju gotta right ta be ju," Maya told me. "He don' gotta like it. If he _truly_ don' like it, da frog can shew him da door. We're not a ban', mon," she added. "We're jus' playahs tryin' ta make a buck." She then patted me on the shoulder. "When ju were first startin' out ... were _you_ a ban'?"

"I was accepted unconditionally…" I replied, thinking about my acceptance into the band.

The silver-skinned woman shook her head. "No, mon. Dat's not what I'm sayin'. Did di rhythm _move_ ya? Was dere _harmony_ at first?"

Remembering all the work I had to go through and the advice that Dr. Teeth gave me a decade ago, I answered, "Well, I had to practice…"

Maya nodded. "So do we all, mon. A good musician has ta keep up wit' a change in de tempo."

"I see," I replied pensively.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Duke head for the stage and whisper something to the leader of the band. With a nod, he motioned the band to start playing. The song that they played was familiar to me, but I forgot the title.

_"Everyone's watching, to see what you will do,"_ the blonde sang as the band played back-up. _"Everyone's looking at you, oh. Everyone's wondering, will you come out tonight? Everyone's trying to get it right, get it right."_

_"Everybody's working for the weekend,"_ the band sang along. _"Everybody wants a little romance. Everybody's goin' off the deep end. Everybody needs a second chance, oh."_

_"You want a piece of my heart?"_ Duke sang out, looking directly at Maya, who hid her face in her hands out of embarrassment. _"You better start from start. You wanna be in the show? Come on baby lets go!"_

* * *

The next day, work for InnerTube TV officially started. Everyone was in high spirits that day, including the (unofficial) band and I. We were in our part of the studio, performing for Kermit so that he might see how we all sound together.

_"Everyone's looking to see if it was you,"_ Duke, the bass player sang. _"Everyone wants you to come through. Everyone's hoping it'll all work out. Everyone's waiting they're holding out!"_

_"Everybody's working for the weekend,"_ he and Maya dueted. _"Everybody wants a little romance. Everybody's goin' off the deep end. Everybody needs a second chance, oh."_

_"You want a piece of my heart?"_ Maya sang solo. _"You better start from start. You wanna be in the show? Come on baby lets go!"_

There was an instrumental break in between the next few parts. The four of us managed to play through it with ease until it was time for Maya and Duke to sing again.

_"You want a piece of my heart? You better start from start. You wanna be in the show? Come on baby lets go. You want a piece of my heart? You better start from start. You wanna be in the show? Come on baby lets go!"_

The song ended and Kermit gave a nod of approval. "That was terrific, everyone!" he congratulated us. "Okay," the frog continued, clasping his hands, "let's all take a break and then we'll get to work on rehearsing the theme song I need from you." With that, he left the room.

As soon as the amphibian departed, we all moved away from our instruments and began our relatively short break. One of the first things that Duke did was try to ask Maya out on a date for the umpteenth time. Obviously, that didn't go over too well for him as he was slapped in the face again. The female spent the rest of her break as far away from him as possible.

As for myself, I took the time to contemplate about a number of things. I remembered the creation that I had worked so hard on and its near completion. I also remembered my friends, who were probably curious about my whereabouts. I hadn't been home in a number of days, mainly because Duke saw it to personally house me in his living space as long as I was working with him in the band. With the intent to call my friends, I strolled out into the hall and towards the pay phone.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was already being used by the drummer.

Almost immediately, I backed up around the corner so that he wouldn't notice me. I did not want a repeat of any of the previous days' events. Surprisingly, he didn't even seem to know of my existence as he was arguing with someone over the phone.

I didn't want to stay around long enough to figure out who he was talking to in fear of him beating me up again. So, I hastened back to the room and decided to play a few tunes on the keyboard. (I don't believe I've ever played through a random medley of songs that fast ever again in my life.)

Before I knew it, the break was over and all of us had filed back into the room again. I had studied the music earlier and noted that the theme song started out with both the percussion and the keyboards playing. Um… what a joy!

"Okay, gang, let's do this thing!" Duke exclaimed after all of us were situated again. "A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four-"

* * *

Surprisingly, filming started off smoothly, with no accidents or fights breaking out. The drummer and I played through the intro just fine. Duke and Maya then began to sing on cue.

_"See see what you can do on the TV. Well it's me, me watching you, you looking at me. Everybody watchin', everywhere. Everybody…"_

_"You're on the air!"_ Duke sang solo.

Even the drummer had a voice in this. _"I say-"_

_"See see what you can do on the TV,"_ Duke and Maya dueted.

_"You know it's-"_

_"Me, me watching you, you looking at me."_

_"I mean-"_

_"See see what you can do on the TV."_

_"You know it's-"_

_"Me, me watching you, you looking at me. Everybody watchin' you and me. Everybody watchin' Inner Tube TV!"_

We continued to play our instruments for quite some time. Once, we heard Kermit speak and looked in the direction where we thought we heard his voice come from. It turned out that we were facing the wrong way, though. Still, we continued to rehearse.

Everything was running along smoothly. No mistakes or unforeseen disasters, just the "band" rehearsing. It was all perfect.

Of course, that all changed when the two mechanics, Jake and Henry, were zapped into our channel.

"Jake! Henry! We're trying to rehearse!" Duke exclaimed at the sudden interruption.

"Somet'in' wron', guys?" Maya asked them.

"Nuttin', no problem," Jake responded, "a possible misalignment in the transponder matrix."

"Transponder problems?" I repeated them. Then, I did what I consider to be the most idiotic thing that I've ever done to myself - trying to get a charge by sticking an active wire plug into my mouth. "Oh, I hate when that happens…"

"Anyone seen Glitch?" Henry piped up nervously.

With a shrug, I resumed playing my keyboard without a care in the world as Duke spoke up, exasperated. "Come on guys, let's rehearse."

"What's dis, suddenly you're in charge?" the female guitarist questioned the bass player as I leaned over the side of the keyboard to quietly try to get the stinging taste of electricity from my mouth. The after taste of the shock was terrible.

"Maya, when there is a leadership gap, someone must fill it," Duke explained as I resumed playing.

I paused as I listened to Maya speak. "But Duke, you've got a brain gap and no one fills dat," she countered. I silently agreed with her. Duke could be a little dense at times…

The drummer startled us all by doing the "ba-doom-ch!" drum roll like in the comedy routines. He chuckled at our surprised expressions.

"Don't follow leaders," I dispensed knowledge, "watch your parking meters." Looking back, I've realized that the sentence that I said was one of the weirdest things to come out of my mouth.

"You got it, Digit!" the pink-haired woman encouraged me before turning back to the mechanics. "Now, kyan i help, Jake?"

"No no no, just a glitch in the system," Jake said. "Come on, Henry." Then the cube that they were in rolled out of the studio.

"Big deal," the drummer deadpanned as they left.

"Live it or live with it," I added.

"Well, yeah, I mean look at us," the blonde stated. "We do just fine and we're surrounded by technology. Smash cuts, chroma keys, slow-mo, rotoscoping…"

"Eight bar hooks," Maya joined in, "low-funk retro rock…"

"Digital modulation wash…" Forget what I said earlier. _This_ was the weirdest thing that came out of my mouth that day.

"Paradiddle flamadiddle," the drummer stated, using a drum stick to scratch his back.

"Flamadiddle?" Duke pondered right before a heavily-pierced man, the one that had encouraged the fight between the drummer and I before, came barging into the studio through the wall behind the bass player.

"Explooooooo-sions!" The man laughed and ran away.

"Explosions have nothing to do with technology!" Duke scolded him.

Suddenly, the studio seemed to rip apart. For a while, we could hear nothing but a different man explaining what I think to believe was his version on why technology was a bad thing. Go figure.

Eventually, things turned back to normal and Jake and Henry punched all the regular channels back up. "Why can't he stay in his own channel?" I heard Henry ask about the man from before.

"He doesn't have one," Jake answered.

He punched up the channel that had my aghast expression. "A man without a channel?" I quizzically stated, not believing it.

I didn't get a response back, so I just shrugged and went about my business. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the drummer staring at me, almost as if he was thinking about some painful memory. Taking a deep breath, I decided to settle our fighting once and for all.

"… I don't get it," I stated, staring back at him. "Why do you dislike me so much? Was it something that I did?"

"You don't get it 'cause yer a movin' computer now," he told me. "You stopped bein' a man _long_ ago." There was a pause for a few moments. "An' I know what machines do ta men."

This caused me to become greatly confused. "Well, what do they do?"

The elderly man looked away and answered my question. "They rip yer soul out an' then ya die."

I didn't respond to him out of shock. How could I when he thought of technology as a serial killer?

The drummer glared at me as he continued. "I watched my kid get plugged up ta more an' more doodads ta keep him alive. He couldn't even open his eyes or hear us anymore… but his heart was bein' run by some dadburned beepin' thingamajig. The doctor said those machines would help, but he died anyway! You think yer alive now? Pffbt. You can't even get t'rough the day wit'out munchin' on some spark plugs." He nodded before he added, "You'll wear out, just like my Pinto. Mark my words… machines can't save no one."

"Well, science has learned a great deal since then," I told him, hoping to lighten the situation.

"Peh," he retorted, "that's not gonna bring my son back."

I pondered the subject for a while. Finally, my jumbled up mind came up with a response. "Would your son be happy with a lifetime of bitterness or would he want you to support technology so people can get more help than he got?"

This made the drummer think for a while. "… but does it _help_ you?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Yes. I would be dead without technology. At least this way I have a fighting chance."

"But what kind of life do you have?"

A sigh escaped my throat as I responded to him. "The same life you do ... a life filled with a traumatic past and struggles just to get through each day without giving up."

He quietly nodded as an answer, shrugged, and walked off.

After that talk, it was near time to do the closing number. I didn't know how I continued after that speech, but I did somehow. Maya went to get the drummer back (he was in the break room) and we started the finale without a problem.

Unfortunately, I can't remember all the words to that song to this day. It was something about laser beams and holograms and being trapped. My mind was too mixed up to fully remember almost anything by that point. Oh well, at least I had a chance to play the keytar.

We all filed out of the studio at the end of it all and called it a day. I was feeling weary from it all, so I started looking around for the break room to no avail. Finally, I noticed a curly-haired female who could possibly show me the way. "Excuse me, miss."

She turned her head towards me to reveal that she was wearing glasses. I didn't know it then, but it was the same girl that had helped Kermit with the initial auditions. "Hmm? Oh, hello!" the girl greeted with a smile. "How may I help you, sir?"

"Can you please point me in the direction of the break room?"

"Sure," the woman pointed in a direction. "Right this way."

"Thank you." I took a single step forward and found myself blacking out, my body crashing against the cold, hard floor.

The last thing I head as I passed out was a desperate cry from the girl. "Mister Kermit! Somebody, please help!" Then there were footsteps, and then, darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

The last time I was in the hospital, I was alone. Nobody knew that I existed and all the medical staff were treating me like a scientific wonder. Everyone else thought that I was dead. For a while, I had trouble doing daily activities because of my constant glitching until I met Lindbergh, who had been my best friend ever since.

I obviously didn't know what to expect after I passed out like I did. Thinking about it now, I might've caused a lot of worry for the workers in the studio. Someone most likely called the hospital and had an ambulance come to take me to the operating room. Dr. Honeydew was probably alerted about the situation and came over to help the doctors prepare an operation to fix me up.

For the longest time, I could only see darkness and hear only silence. Gradually, though, I started to hear the faint sounds of beeping machinery and people talking amongst themselves. This continued to happen until one day when I decided to wearily open my eyes and take a look around.

The first thing my awakened eyeballs focused on was a blurry image of a white ceiling in the room. Sure enough, I had been taken to the hospital and was lying on my back in a bed. After my vision focused more, I could see even more of the room and the various medical equipment near my bedside. I was hooked to an IV, a heart monitor and an oxygen supplier. Foolishly, I tried to sit up, but I discovered that my whole body ached. Lying back down, I fumbled around for a remote of some sort that would adjust my bed so that I could sit up. After finding one, the top part of the bed slowly made its way forward until it stopped at a suitable position.

I rested my head against the pillow as I heard a gentle knock on the door, followed by a nurse poking her head in. "Good afternoon," she greeted with a smile as she headed over to my bed. "Thank goodness that you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"

"Body aches all over," I managed to weakly moan out.

"That's expected after what you've been through," the nurse explained, "although it may also have to do with the fact that you've been asleep for three days and haven't moved your limbs around much. You'll need to learn how to move around again for a few days before you can go home."

I slowly nodded, showing her that I was listening and understanding the situation.

"I know that it may be too early for this, but you have visitors waiting for you," the woman told me. "Shall I send them in?"

Visitors were something that I never had the first time I was in the hospital. (Lindbergh didn't count, as he was there originally to fix the sink.) This was quite a refreshing change. "Sure," I croaked out, "send them in."

A few silent moments after the nurse headed out the door, three familiar faces filed into the room. One of them was a frog with a eleven-point collar who I had seen three days ago, another was a shaggy brown kiwi dressed in a jumpsuit who I had last seen about a week days ago, and the last was a melon-headed scientist who I hadn't seen in the longest time.

A different nurse appeared behind them. She was clad in a white nurse uniform and wearing her hair up in a ponytail. After a quick trip to the sink to wash her hands, she approached my bedside with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Digit," the nurse greeted. "My name is Kelly and I'll be your nurse until 7 PM. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions in front of your visitors, or would you like them to leave the room first?"

I glanced over at the three that were already assembled at the other side of the bed. Kermit and Lindbergh were looking at me, concern apparent on the frog's face. Bunsen made his way over to the nurse's side with a clipboard.

"I don't mind at all," I replied with a semi-hoarse voice. "Besides, they've just arrived in here."

"Sure," Kelly said with a nod. Then, she shone a penlight in both of my eyes. "How are feeling right now?" she asked. "Do you have any pain, or sensations of heat?"

"Well, my body was aching a little earlier…" I told her. "As far as the subject of overheating goes, I'm not too sure. I seem to be pretty cool at the moment."

The nurse nodded again. "Mmhmm. Have you been seeing spots, bright lights -" a giggle escaped from her throat before she continued "- other than the one I just shined in your eyes, naturally - or blurry images?"

I only slightly remembered the Inner Tube project from a few days ago. "Monitors, strobe lights…" I recollected. "Yes, yes I have, actually. But that was a few days ago."

Kelly nodded before resting her hands on the bedrail. "Okay, so you're around flashy screens, then? What about since you've been here? Have you seen any strange lights since you woke up?"

"Well, besides the ceiling lights, my vision was slightly blurry when I first woke up," I recalled. "I managed to focus it eventually, though."

"Ah." The nurse then wrote something on a note card and showed it to me. "Could you please act out what it says on this card?" she asked.

After I read the card silently to myself (it read "Wiggle your left foot"), I did the action for a few moments. "... is my foot moving all right?" I asked Kelly. "I don't know if I can feel it. Just slightly, but still…"

She nodded, taking my hands in hers. "I'd like you to push against my hands as hard as you can," she requested.

"Okay…" Then I pushed against her hands as hard as I could. Oddly enough, I could only feels slight pressure.

"I'll be honest," Kelly spoke up as I was pushing, "this is the first time I've seen someone with such enhancements… when you pick up objects, can you normally tell temperature and texture?"

"I usually can," I told her. "I don't know what's wrong with that function of me at the moment, though... am I pushing hard enough?"

"Sure." The woman then went to my feet, a never-ending smile on her face. "Sorry if this tickles," she stated politely, "but I'm going to hold your feet and I need you to push against my hands."

"Got it." I counted to three silently and started to push with all my might against the nurse's hands.

Kelly's smile never left her face as she spoke. "Good, good! So, it just seems to be a slight bilateral weakness in your hands." She then turned to Bunsen, who was busily writing things down on the clipboard. "Dr. Honeydew, Dr. Goelz will need to know how much Digit's circuitry affects his motor control, if you don't mind."

"Not to worry, Miss Kelly," the scientist reassured her. "I was about to go visit Dr. Goelz while on my way to lunch, anyhow."

The woman smiled and turned back to me. "I don't want to take up a lot of your time, Digit," she told me. "I'm sure your visitors would like to have a private moment with you. Before I go, let me tell you first that you can't have anything to eat or drink. The doctor's order does allow you to swish some ice chips in your mouth for comfort, but you'll need to make sure you're sitting up so you don't risk choking, all right? And if you have to go to the bathroom, please press the call light for assistance." With the touch of her hand to mine, she added, "Please don't try to stand by yourself. Do you have any questions before I go?"

I managed a smile of my own. "No, Kelly, I don't have any questions at all." _Will I be okay?_ I asked in my mind.

The nurse gave me one last smile and departed from the room.

"And on that note," Bunsen began a few moments later, finally putting the pen in his pocket after finishing up the writing, "I must go speak with Dr. Goelz about Mr. Digit's circuitry. Excuse me, gentlemen." With that, he left the room in search for the doctor.

After the scientist left, I looked over at the frog and the bird that were still in the room. They were glancing at each other nervously, each afraid to go first in speaking to me.

With a small smirk (as much as I could do at the time in my still semi-dazed state), I decided to speak to them myself. "I'm so glad to see you guys here. I just hope that this doesn't dock my pay," I added, weakly winking at Kermit.

The famous amphibian gave a smirk of his own before he replied. "That's okay. None of you were going to be paid anyway. I can't afford the taxes." The smirk turned into a smile as he patted me on the hand. "Of [i]course[/i] you're what's important now. You _have_ to get better… I don't think I can run the show without you."

"Well, it's true that you can't run a show without a team," I mused aloud. "Every member has their own strengths and- wait, me?" I gave Kermit a confused stare. Could he really not run the new show without me? "I thought I was just hired as a keyboard player."

Kermit nodded. "I never hire for _just_ the stated position," he stated. "During The Muppet Show, everyone had to have backstage skills as well as acting or singing skills. I don't always have the money to hire specific jobs. I have learned to be efficient when I hire."

I smiled as I fondly remembered watching the show years ago. "Of course. Efficiency is often a key element in any organization," I noted. "Take a band, for instance. They have to do a lot of things just to get a gig. Advertising, transportation, hauling the equipment, setting up the equipment, working the equipment -"

"Don't forget about making sure that you're in tip-top shape," Lindbergh interrupted me. "That's a hard job within itself." He continued with a shrug. "I know I'm your best friend and all, but you need to tell me - any of us, actually - what you plan on doing before you wear yourself out like this."

"I apologize, Lindbergh," I said to my friend, glancing away. "No one knows me better than you do."

"Aw, it's no problem, Digit!" the kiwi accepted. "You just have to learn how to be just a little bit more careful."

"Do you have experience with these kinds of things?" Kermit asked Lindbergh.

With a nod, my best friend launched into the story of how he and I met. Even though it had been over a decade ago, he still remembered the meeting with the most excellent of memory. I smiled to myself as I remembered when we met on my own time.

The frog nodded as the story was completed and asked Lindbergh thoughtfully, "Want a job?"

The kiwi widened his eyes in surprise and amazement. "Really? You want to hire me?"

"For right now, it'd just be helpful if you'd be Digit's assistant," Kermit explained. "I have a lot of complicated technological stuff in mind, and I can't have Digit wearing himself out all the time. I was thinking of Bunsen, but he's got his own priorities with Muppet Labs."

"Gee, it's an honor to be able to work with you, Mr. the Frog," my best friend told our new boss. "You can count me in!"

"Call me Kermit, Lindbergh," the frog said with a grin. "I never really understood why everyone kept starting my name with an article," he added before he paused. "An article is like the word 'the', 'a', 'an'… you know, those kinds of words."

The brown bird's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uh, yeah."

A chuckle escaped from the frog's throat. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

"Right." Lindbergh then turned to me. "So, what happened to ya, Digit? Did you have a bad glitch?"

"A-actually, to tell the truth, guys," I answered, "I hardly remember what happened. All I recall last is asking for the break room, and then the next thing I know, I'm here in the hospital."

Before any of us could speak again, a doctor with a brown beard and glasses walked into the room with a clipboard, shuffling through a few papers. "Good afternoon, Digit," the man greeted before nodding at my two visitors. "Good afternoon, folks." Turning back to me, he spoke. "I'm Dr. Goelz, and I have some good news. We've gone over all the tests and it doesn't appear that any of your biological systems were damaged permanently."

"That's a relief," I sighed to myself.

"It appears that there was a problem with some of your cybernetic interfaces," Dr. Goelz continued. "In other words, the parts of the machines that help you couldn't communicate effectively with the biological nervous system anymore."

"It's not that serious, is it doctor?" I asked.

"Actually, what we're going to do is replace a few connectors, a few bad circuits, and apply some biological scaffolding to help reconnect the nerves to the computer chips, and you should be fine in a week or so. Dr. Honeydew has gone to acquire the necessary parts and we have some experimental biological scaffolding here in our research division."

"Wow, science is amazing these days," Lindbergh commented.

"It truly is," the man agreed with a smile before adjusting his glasses. "Now, are there any questions from any of you?"

The three of us replied all at once. "I don't think so." "Nah." "Well, you're the expert. We'll leave the operation up to you."

A chuckle came out of Dr. Goelz's throat. "All right. I'll see you again in the operating room, Digit, right before the anesthesia kicks in." With that, he left with the clipboard in his hands.

* * *

"… clamps…"

"… forceps…"

"… I need more light!"

Even though I was under the anesthesia medication, I could still hear snippets of the conversations during the operations. I tried to fall asleep, but my mind wouldn't let me snooze that easily.

I could hear a sigh. "The corrosion seems a bit worse than the X-Ray showed …"

I forced myself to not sit up on the table. Was that bad?

"… dendrites attached…"

Then I heard the sound of beeping. "… chip function at maximum."

"… what the…?"

"He's starting to wake up. Increase anesthesia, please."

"… decayed neural pathway…"

The last thing I heard before I passed out completely was a sigh and "We'll have to remove it."


	22. Chapter 22

The next thing that I remember happening was waking up in the hospital again, this time in a recovery room. I could hardly make out anything at first because of my drowsiness, and I wanted to fall back asleep and dream. Alas, all attempts were not successful, and I thought that I might as well stare at the ceiling to pass the time.

As I lay there in the hospital bed, I listened around to all the sounds. There was the steady beeping of machinery, the soft talking of nurses and doctors, and… Well, basically, that was all I heard other than my thoughts.

Whenever I did eventually start to stir a little, I felt my body aching all over. The sensation was much worse than the last time. They must've operated on a lot of parts, including those decayed neural paths that they had to amputate. _What were they, anyway?_ I mentally asked myself.

A small yawn found its way out of my throat. My internal clock told me that it was late and that I needed to go to sleep, but how could I? I was passed out for three days before the operation, and asleep for who knew how long thanks to the anesthesia.

Still, just thinking of sleep made me tired again. I shifted around a little in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position before I closed my eyes again. It took a little while, but I finally managed to drift off to a quiet slumber.

* * *

When I awoke the next day, I was back in the hospital room that I was in previously. My body still ached from the surgery, but I found that I could move my hands around a little without them aching as much. I adjusted the bed with the remote and then rubbed my eyes to fully awake myself.

As I began to lowered my hands, something about them seemed to catch my eye. I didn't understand it at first. They were the same color that they had been since the Seventies and everything about them was functioning just right… Raising my hands back up, I moved my fingers around to see-

Wait… the fingers…

Startled, I silently counted the fingers on my left hand. _One, two, three, four…_ Where was the fifth one? Making sure that I wasn't just imagining things, I went ahead and counted the fingers on my right hand. "One, two, three, four…" Four… fingers on each hand?

I examined my hands to make sure that I wasn't seeing strange images and let out a yelp of surprise and shock. Cautiously, I wiggled around the eight fingers that I did see and gasped. Turning my hands so that my palms faced me, I counted all of the fingers again in my head and still came up with a grand total of eight.

What did this mean? Why did I only have eight fingers? Were the other two invisible, or…

I remembered that a man in the surgery room said something about removing decayed neural pathways. Only then did I realize that two of my fingers, one on each hand, had to be amputated in order for me to function properly. It was fine and all thinking about it now, but back then I was greatly concerned. I didn't know how I could go through life with just eight, erm, digits.

Curiosity consumed me. How would this affect my everyday living? I picked up the remote at my bedside, testing out my grip. It seemed to be just fine. I also practiced with a cup of ice that was on a tray nearby. _This isn't so bad,_ I thought to myself. _I could actually get used to this. I mean, it's not like it'll affect my life in any major way or anything._

A gentle knock came upon my door and a nurse poked her head in. "Digit, you have a group of visitors here to see you. Should I send them in all at once, or do you want to visit with them one at a time?"

A smile came across my face. My friends had come to check up on me! What a nice surprise. "Sure, send them in," I told her.

Imagine _my_ surprise to see that instead of my friends, six beautiful human women filed into the room, one right after another.

Naturally, I was greatly confused. Who were these people? Did I meet them at a party? Did I speak to them over the phone? Were they models? Were they off-duty nurses? Were they waitresses? … who were they and what were they doing in my hospital room?

"Hi, Digit," the females all greeted simultaneously.

And how did they know my name?

"… hello," I replied back to them, a quizzical expression on my face. "Um… what brings you ladies here today?"

"We were sent here to be your present," explained a brunette.

"Yes," a blonde agreed, "Leon sent us."

Of course. I should've known... Out of all the people I knew, Leon had the biggest obsession with girls. Only he would've constructed a present like this.

What he failed to realize was that I wasn't that comfortable around women that I hardly knew. Even when I was still human, I never had that much luck when it came to girls. I never even had a date to the prom. Heck, I didn't even go to my high school prom, now that I think of it.

It's like I told Lindbergh after the Hello, Dolly incident, "Nonsense, the day that I decide to go out on a date with a girl is the day that I learn to mambo."

Anyway, the women were flocking around my bed, cooing at me and giggling. I felt a little uncomfortable, as I wasn't used to this sort of attention. "It's fine, girls," I told them after ten minutes of this. "You don't need to do this. I'll be all right. I've decided that I'm willing to learn how to live with eight fingers. Besides, it could be quite fun."

"Oh, we hope so, cutie," a woman with black hair stated with a wink as the females started to leave the room. "Besides, it's not like you play the piano or something."

As they left after that comment, realization hit. How would I be able to play the keyboards again after the surgery? I'd have to learn all over again. Oh, why couldn't I have my original ten fingers back?

* * *

About a week or so after I had been sent home from the hospital, I found myself pacing around the house. I was deeply troubled, I hadn't a clue what to do. My friends, even my little computer graphic project, tried to cheer me up numerous times, but nothing seemed to work. Somehow that day, I ended up sitting in a chair in the living room, staring at my keyboards. I didn't know if I could ever play again after what I had been through. Still, the only way to know was to try, so I wandered off over to them and decided to play.

_"It's not that easy being… grayish-green,"_ I sang as I tried my best to play the notes right. _"It's not that easy… having only eight fingers."_ I cringed as I kept on making mistakes and hitting wrong notes. _"When I think it could be nicer being a normal skin color or have ten fingers again or something to that extent."_ Taking a breath, I stepped away from the keyboards and continued singing to myself. _"It's not that easy being grayish-green. Having to spend each day the color of diluted tea-"_

"Yo Digit, you got a visitor at the door waiting for you," Clifford told me, stepping into the room. "Why don't you come on and greet them?"

Letting out a sigh, I responded, "Sure, Clifford." I stepped away from the keyboards and made my way to the front door, which was already ajar ever so slightly. I turned the knob and opened the door, expecting it to be Kermit or someone.

What - actually, who I saw in the doorway changed my life forever.

The visitor was a female with curly red hair and glasses. She was wearing a teal dress, trimmed at the neck with lace. A sincere smile was on her face; and the way the sun hit her made her give off an almost angelic glow. I was finally meeting the girl that I've only seen briefly twice face-to-face.

"Hi, Mr. Digit!" she greeted cheerfully, the smile never leaving her face. "I just wanted to check up on you."

I could hardly believe that such a beautiful angel was actually speaking to me. "Hi…" I greeted her shyly. "Won't you... like to come in for a while?" I motioned to the inside of the house.

The female nodded, stepping inside. "Thank you." She took out a pencil and a clipboard on our way to the living room. "I hope you don't mind."

A smile of my own formed on my lips. "Oh, not at all."

The fair maiden sat down on the couch while I remained standing, wondering if I should sit beside her or not. "Mr. Kermit asked me to get some information," she explained to me. "Of course, if you don't wish to divulge certain personal attributes, feel free to say so. How are your hands functioning so far?"

Glancing down at my hands for a few brief seconds, I answered her. "My hands are functioning fine. Picking up objects and moving things around have been easier since the surgery. I'm still relearning how to play the keyboards, though. Kind of difficult to do with eight fingers, I've discovered…"

"I bet," the woman agreed with a nod. "Do you need any special services?"

"Oh, not at all," I replied. "I have all the help that I need. Kermit has told you about my glitching, hasn't he? Well, I have a friend in the maintenance business who's teaching me about my inner mechanisms so that I can repair myself when he isn't around. But other than that, I'm fine."

The red-haired beauty nodded. "That's a good idea," she noted. "If you don't mind, I'd like a checklist of any procedures you may require for myself. You know…" She started to twirl her pencil around thoughtlessly in her fingers. "How to turn you off if that's possible, how to turn you on…"

I felt my cheeks heat up a little as she finished up the statement. Did she really just say what I thought she said? _No, Digit, get your mind out of there,_ my conscience scolded me. _She didn't mean to say it like that, so stop standing around like an idiot and answer her._

"Well, um, as far as that matter goes," I responded, trying very hard to mask my nervousness, "there's a certain button or switch on my control panel that has that function. Right…" I singled the button out with the pointing of a finger. "…here. The other switches are mainly for vocal issues, if something should come up with that."

Apparently the woman thought the same thing that I did and started to blush. "Mmhmm." She cleared her throat and spoke again, an air of nervousness present. "Uh, okay… well, um… I wasn't trying to say anything too forward… I just needed to know what buttons to push-" A gasp escaped her throat. "I mean… uh…" The redness on her face deepened. "I'm sorry, but do you have a bathroom?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure," I told her, "it's down the hall, first door to your right."

The female then scurried off to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. As I watched her walk away, I sat down on the opposite end of the couch and mentally complimented her on her gracefulness. _She's so beautiful and kind,_ I thought happily. _I don't even know her name, and yet she seems to make my circuitry feel complete. Heaven must've sent an angel to me…_

My ears perked up at running water and a feminine voice scolding herself. _This worried me greatly. How could such a marvelous woman talk about herself so negatively?_ I mentally asked with concern. _If anything, she should be showered with praises. Oh, if only she knew how I felt about her right now…_

She emerged a few moments later, straightening out her clothes and hair. "There, that's better." My angel turned to face me with a smile as I stood up. "I'm so happy to see you're feeling better, Mr. Digit, sir. We at Muppet Central can't wait to have you back on the team." Her cheeks became rosy as she continued to speak. "I'll be more than happy to, um, ahem, get you anything you need." The maiden then gave me a piece of paper. "My number's on there," she told me. "Call me if you need anything."

"… you don't have to call me 'Mr. Digit', you know," I said to her softly with a smile. "Just Digit will do."

The beauty nodded and gave her own smile in return. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, Digit," she told me as we reached the front door. Her hand turned the knob and she started to walk out the door, but not before telling me "Goodbye" in a very sweet tone of voice.

I closed the door behind her and sighed, a lovesick expression present on my face. There was no doubt about it: I was in love with a wonderful woman. No other person could take her place. We had only known each other for a short while, and yet she had stolen my heart away completely.

Realizing that I had yet to find out her name, I glanced down at the card that she gave me and searched for her name. "Vicki Gale," I read silently to myself. I held the card close to my heart.

Vicki. That was the name of my angel. Just thinking about her made me hear sweet sounds all around me. Oh, what could I say? This feeling was here to stay for sure.


	23. Chapter 23

Of course, that wasn't my last dealing with the Muppets. Quite the contrary; the rest of my friends were about to be added to the fun.

On the night that Solid Foam finally got their big break, the room was packed and the crowd was yelling for more. We were about to play our closing number, and the audience (which mostly consisted of people in their teens and twenties) went wild when I first started to play my keyboards for that final number of the concert. The rest of the band soon joined in and we launched into a favorite Bon Jovi song of ours.

_"Once upon a time,"_ Beard started the lyrics, _"Not so long ago…"_

_"Tommy used to work on the docks,"_ Flash sang. _"Union's been on strike, he's down on his luck. It's tough… ooh, so tough. Gina works the diner all day, orking for her man, she brings home her pay For love… ooh, for love."_

_"She says: We've got to hold on to what we've got,"_ Beard sang with the saxophonist, _"'cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other and that's a lot. For love, we'll give it a shot."_

_"Oh, We're half way there,"_ we (meaning Flash, Beard, myself, and Clifford) sang. (Francine was too busy playing the drums.) _"Oh-oh! Livin' on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear. Oh-oh! Livin' on a prayer."_

_"Tommy got his six string in hock,"_ Flash sang solo. _"Now he's holding in what he used to make it talk. So tough… ooh, it's tough. Gina dreams of running away. When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers: Baby it's okay… someday…"_

_"We've got to hold on to what we've got,"_ the duo from before sang, _"'cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We've got each other and that's a lot. For love, we'll give it a shot."_

_"Oh, We're half way there,"_ the four of us sang again. _"Oh-oh! Livin' on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear. Oh-oh! Livin' on a prayer!"_

_"Livin' on a prayer!"_ Flash sang out before Beard began a guitar solo.

_"Oooh, we've got to hold on, ready or not,"_ the blonde sang again. _"You live for the fight when it's all that you've got!"_

_"Whoa, We're half way there,"_ we all sang. _"Whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer! Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear. Whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer!"_

The fans sang along with us for the last part. _"Whoa, We're half way there. Whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer! Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear. Whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer!"_

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheering and applause. We all took our bows and bid the audience a good night before shuffling backstage for a much-needed break. The others were busy discussing the fans while I wandered off to be with my own thoughts.

"Digit!" A familiar voice called out once I was alone backstage. I turned to see a silver-skinned woman with pink hair. "How's it goin'? You and your band absolutely [i]rock[/i]!"

A surprised and happy expression came across my face. "Maya! What a surprise seeing you here!" I moved closer to the friend that I hadn't seen in a few months as I continued to speak. "How did you find us?"

"Vicki has all de personnel files," she explained with a smile. "I knew right where fe find you."

I felt my cheeks heat up ever so slightly as I thought about the red-haired beauty that I had the pleasure of meeting. "Oh, she does? That's interesting."

With a nod, Maya continued. "Yeah, de girl's detailed, I'll gi her dat. Anyway, di reason I came was fe see if ju and your band wanted a gig at Muppet Central."

My mind was still on the bespectacled girl as I continued to speak. "And she's very beauti-" I suddenly realized that Maya was on a completely different subject. "Er, I mean, really? The whole band's invited to join?" I asked.

A sigh escaped from the Jamaican woman's throat. "Yeah… dere were some… changes… fe de organizational chart. Duke and Kevin bowed out and I'm far too busy with directin' di musical spots fe play myself."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," I told her. [i]Wait, that was the drummer's name, Kevin?[/i] I thought quizzically. "No worries, Maya, I'm sure the rest of the band would love to work at Muppet Central."

"Excellent," the woman said with a nod. "Just stop on by me office when ju guys arrive. I need ju before I head out on me lunch break, okay?"

"We'll be sure to be there, Maya," I confirmed. The answer was a smile, and then she started to leave the backstage area. At the last moment, I motioned for Maya to come back and practically rushed ahead of her to the others, eager about the good news about our new, permanent gig. Boy, were they going to be surprised.

* * *

Maya would never know just how happy she made me. I had been so uncomfortable around Kevin the drummer and the others. Of course, I was suffering some technical difficulties at the time, but while I would have stayed in that job because I needed it - I was really uncomfortable. But there was a ray of light in all this. Now I could be with my band, the one who knew me, and I could have my best friend at my side.

After the concert, we all went back to our apartments to retire for the evening. Lindbergh and I entered our shared apartment as I alerted to my little computer graphic that we were home. The computer that contained him lit up with life as the graphic's goofy grin became predominant. "Hey, Digit! Lindy! How was the concert?"

"The band got a new gig!" Lindbergh happily exclaimed.

"Oooh, where is it this time?" the graphic asked, his eyes lit in excitement. "Las Vegas? Monte Carlo? San Freansisco? Disney World?"

"With the Muppets," I corrected. "See, the original band that I was in for the InnerTube pilot sort of... broke up. So, Solid Foam is going to be the new house band!"

The computer graphic gasped. "You mean you guys are getting to work with them? Lucky!"

"Can you believe it, Lindbergh?" I could hardly contain my excitement. "Everyone's getting to work with the Muppets now!"

Lindbergh nodded. "Wow, working with real people in show business... This is going to be great!"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll love every moment working with them, Lindy!"

"Oh! That reminds me," the little graphic interrupted. "Valentine's Day is coming up soon, isn't it?"

"No, it was a few months ago..." How did Valentine's Day get brought up? Both Lindbergh and the computer graphic knew that the only "official" couple that we personally knew was Flash and Francine. The rest of us didn't really date, although both Clifford and Leon have dated others several times and Flash was constantly being in check for mobs of female fans.

The graphic drooped his head. "Oh... and I already got the wedding invitations ready, too..."

This made me even more confused. "Wait, what wedding?" I asked, not noticing a glance between my best friend and my creation.

"Oh, right! I forgot that the boquets were being shipped in!" Lindbergh suddenly brought up. "And that shipment of Valentine's Day candy we already personal ordered... but I need to check to see if the names are spelled right."

"Guys, I'm sorry to break it to you," I interjected, "but nobody's getting married. Besides, Flash and Francine would've told us when they were officially engaged, if that even comes around-"

"Wait, they're getting married, too?" the graphic asked.

"No! Nobody is!"

Lindbergh and the graphic exchanged a glance. "That's a shame... we already put the bride's name on the wedding invitations and everything," the kiwi informed me.

"And I already started to look for tuxedos and rings for you and the bride!" the computer graphic added as he pulled up images of tuxedos and wedding rings. "Which ones do you like the best, Digit?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" This alarmed me quite a bit. "Whoa, guys, I'm not getting married!"

"You mean," Lindbergh started with a semi-knowing grin on his face. "You haven't asked her yet?"

"Asked who-?" I cut my sentence short when I saw two identical Cheshire Cat-like grins on my friend and my creation. "... guys, what is this all about? Is this about...?"

Apparently, the blue graphic could hardly hold back from singing. _"Digit and Vicki, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"_

"This is about her..." I confirmed with an exasperated sigh. Well, now it was official: two people... two _living beings_ now knew of my crush on the pretty red-haired girl. "Fine, fine ... work it all out of your systems. I have a crush on Vicki, you guys know so much about it now..."

"Oh, c'mon, Digit," my creation said to me, "we think it's great!"

"Seriously, though, Digit," my best friend began, "what are your plans with Vicki?"

"Well…" I scratched the back of my head out of nervousness while continuing. "To be honest, I'm still not that sure. I mean, I want to take her out on a date sometime, but I don't want to seem too forward to her. Since I'm still getting to know her and all, I have to make sure that I ask her at the right time."

"What is the right time?" the little graphic asked.

"I don't know exactly right now," I told him, "but I'll know it when I see it."

"Well, can you at least give me a hint?" he asked persistently.

I tried to change the subject. "Let me punch up the classic Romeo and Juliet," I told my creation. "It's a play about two teenagers who struggle with love despite all their hardships."

"Isn't Romeo and Juliet where-?" Lindbergh started to ask.

"Well, to be kind of honest," I interrupted him, "it's one of the few plays I remember from high school." Chuckling a little, I pulled up a text document that had the entire play typed out in it.

The determined graphic started to search through text for a few quotes. " 'Two households, both alike in dignity'… wow, what a long intro… hardly any romance in this scene… 'But soft! What light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun…' Long monologue… "Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?' … blah blah blah… 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.'" He then paused, looking directly at Lindbergh and myself. "What do you call a computer graphic, then?" he asked.

"Piccy?" the kiwi suggested.

My ears mistook what he said for the girl of my dreams and I immediately turned my head with slight anticipation and nervousness. "Where?"

The bird looked at me in confusion. "Huh?"

"I'm not very picky, actually," the graphic stated, his lower lip pouted.

Lindbergh then applied his hand (wing?) to his forehead in exasperation.

"Come on guys, I need a name." the blue rubber duckie-like creature continued. "A _real_ name."

I started searching around for a certain book that I had on file. "Where did I leave that name book?"

"You have a name book?" Lindbergh questioned.

"Never mind why I have it," I spoke to my best friend. "I want to know where I put it."

"Well, have you tried the bookshelf by the wall?" he asked.

"Where's the wall?" I responded in return. Suddenly, an idea came into my mind. "Where's Waldo…"

"Who's Waldo?" the kiwi asked.

I replied by smiling at my creation and pointing to him.

The graphic's eyes widened. "Me?"

The smile never left my face as I nodded in response. "Yes, I think Waldo fits you rather well."

"Waldo... I kinda like it," the newly christened computer graphic stated. "What about my middle and last names?"

I stroked my chin, trying to think of something "Well, you _are_ a computer graphic," I told him. "Let's just use that: Waldo C. Graphic."

"Isn't that a bit derivative?" Lindbergh asked me.

I shrugged as I answered him. "Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy, Fozzie Bear…"

"Good point."

"I have a name!" Waldo exclaimed. He celebrated all night long that evening, rejoicing at the fact that he finally had a name to be called by. Coincidentally, neither Lindbergh nor myself received any sleep until we managed to calm Waldo down very early in the morning so that we could get at least a few full hours of sleep. We had a new career to look forward for.


	24. Chapter 24

_"Movin' right along, footloose and fancy-free! Getting there is half the fun, come share it with me! Movin' right along- _Come on guys, sing along! _We'll learn to share the-"_

"Shut up, Digit," Francine deadpanned, covering her ears. "You've been singing that song since forever ago…"

We (meaning the band, Leon, Lindbergh, and myself) were on our way to our first day of work. Clifford was driving the car, and Lindbergh was giving him directions. The rest of us were squished into the back few rows. I was trying to lighten the otherwise dreary mood of the morning, but there were just some people that wouldn't hear it.

"Aww, cheer up, guys," the kiwi piped up, "we're almost there. See?" He pointed to a building up ahead which I somehow knew housed Muppet Central.

Eventually, we found a parking space and all filed out of the car to the building's entrance. We were about to enter through the door when a small voice piped up. "Hello! Are you the band Solid Foam and friends?"

Quizzically, we all scanned the area for the source of the almost child-like voice. "Who wants ta know?" Leon asked, his large eyes darting back and forth.

"Over here!" We turned to see a small bunny in a red jacket and a blue scarf. "My name is Bean Bunny, and today I've been assigned to be your tour guide around Muppet Central!"

Clifford frowned, doubting that the rabbit was being serious. "Shouldn't you be at school?" the purple bassist asked the rabbit.

"Shouldn't you have a job?" Bean asked in return, a smug grin on his face.

The bassist shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. "He's got him there," Lindbergh whispered to me. I nodded in agreement.

"So, if there aren't any more questions," the little bunny continued, "we can start the tour! This way, Mr. New Coworkers! And Miss New Coworker," he added, possibly after a glare from Francine.

Bean led us through the entry doorway. As soon as we walked in, our curiosity consumed us and we explored a nearby room. Dozens of computers and monitors lined a wall and different programs were being played on them. We all looked on in awe at the new advancements.

"And can you believe that these are only the beginning rooms?" the cream-colored rabbit piped up. "I sure couldn't when I was first here! But Mr. Kermit explained things to me, how everything works around here... interesting stuff for the for the technologically-inclined, like Mr. Robot over here!"

I quickly turned my head from some television set to look at Bean. "Actually, I'm a semi-robotic person," I corrected, "and my name is Digit."

Bean's ears lowered a bit. "Oh. Well, hi Mr. Digit!" he bounced right back into a happy tone. "I'd like to get to know each and every one of you! You see, I'm planning on making a scrapbook on my days here at Muppet Central. Right this way, folks," Bean motioned to some of the others in the group that were trying to get away. He then started to lead us down another hallway into a room and resumed his tour/rambling. "Anyway, Muppet Central is such a swell place! There are a lot of stations that get picked up. There's this one channel with this white lion on it..."

And then I saw… her. The angel that I had been hoping to meet again. She was walking past the doorway to the room that we were in at the moment, but that was enough to set my heart aflame.

All of a sudden, I felt the urge to sing amongst everything that was happening. I just couldn't control it. I took a deep breath in, and…

_"Hello, ma baby! Hello, ma honey! Hello, my rag-time gal! Send me a kiss by wire, baby my heart's on fire! If you refuse me, honey, you lose me, and you'll be left alone. Oh baby, telephone, and tell me I'm your own!"_

Looking back, I've realized that not only wasn't that the right song for the tone of the atmosphere, but the rest of my friends were giving me weird looks afterwards.

After finishing the song, I somehow changed back to normal. It turned out that it was only a mild glitch, but it still made me flustered. "Oh, I hate it when these things happen," I told myself as I wandered away from the group. "I shouldn't even be here…"

Imagine my surprise when I heard someone applauding my singing. "Wow! What an incredible number!"

I was a little startled by the voice and the clapping. Nevertheless, I turned around to see a blue hooked-nose… something or other. "Why, thank you!" I replied, a smile forming on my face.

"It's amazing how you mesh a big band piece with some good old Eighties flair," he told me. "And I can't help but notice the amphibious reference! Are you a fan of Chuck Jones too?"

"Amphibious reference?" I repeated, slightly confused. Then I thought about what he meant for a brief moment and responded to him. "Well, yes, I am a fan of the Looney Tunes, if that's what you meant. ... Um…" Suddenly, I realized who I was speaking to. "Are you the Great Gonzo, by any chance?"

"The one and only!" Gonzo confirmed with a huge grin. "So to speak. Anyway, _please_ tell me you're the new band!"

"Yes, we are the new band," I confirmed. "These are all the members of Solid Foam, including myself. My name's Digit."

"Are you number or anatomy?"

That caught me a little off guard, but after a moment, I was back to replying. "Semi-robotic, actually."

"That is _soooo_ cool!" the blue creature exclaimed. "I've been asking Kermit for YEARS to make me semi-robotic!" There was a pause before he looked downwards, a frown on his face. "But, he always says we're over budget," he sighed.

"It's actually a long story that I'd be glad to tell you sometime." I cleared my throat and tried to change the subject a little. "So, I take it that we will be working together, correct?"

Gonzo shrugged. "If we're working under the same roof, we're working together," he answered. "That's how Kermit does things around here."

"I see," I said with a nod. "I think I saw you on the set of The Muppet Movie. We were, ah, the ones who drove the car through the wall..."

The blue creature's eyes widened. "I remember that! Hey, thanks again for giving us such a great inspiration for the ending!"

"You're welcome, and I'll be sure to tell the others that as well." Then, something occurred to me that hadn't before. "You know, I've just formally met you, and yet… I feel some sort of a connection with you, Gonzo. Sounds strange, I know…"

"Yeah, I get that all the time," the hook-nosed wonder spoke up. "People always expect me to play the saxophone for some reason."

"Even though I'm a musician myself," I began to say, "I'm actually a little bit more interested in the fields of science and technology."

"Hmmm, have you met Bunsen?" Gonzo asked. "I'm a friend of his."

"Actually, he's the man who designed my circuitry," I explained. "If it weren't for his invention, I wouldn't be here right now."

"Huh, you don't say?" The daredevil then patted me on the shoulder. "So, what are you doing besides music?" he wondered.

"I hope to work in the technical department as well," I told him. "I plan on introducing Kermit to a creation of mine." A smile came across my face, remembering Waldo.

"Really?" Gonzo was certainly interested now. "You'll have to let me have a peek."

"Sure, Gonzo. Is there a computer nearby where I can type his code in?"

"Oh, yeah, we got plenty of them in the control room," Gonzo responded to my question. "It houses the main mainframe."

"Do you think you can show me there once the band and I finish up rehearsal in a few minutes?" I questioned him, not knowing if the band wanted to rehearse or not. "Plus, we're sort of on a tour right now, but..."

"Sure," Gonzo replied with a shrug, "but to get past the doors, you'll need a feather, a top hat, a nickel, and a dust bunny."

My eyes widened. Was finding the control room really that difficult?

"Just kidding." Gonzo smirked, patting me on the back again. "You don't need the nickel."

Before I could ask what else that I needed, Maya walked by with a look of indifference on her face. "Down de hall, third door on de lef'," she scoffed.

After a quick blink, she vanished just as quickly as she had entered. "… right. Thanks, Maya!" I called after her before setting out to find the control room. "Let's see, down the hall, third door on the left…"

"I'll see you later, then!" Gonzo called after me, waving goodbye as I walked away.

The door was easy enough to find. I turned the knob and was greeted with a pleasing sight. Monitors lined every wall and continued onto the ceiling. It seemed that every program in the universe was playing simultaneously at that moment, and I had access to them all instantly.

It was like heaven to me, but there weren't any angels to share it with.

Of course, my angel probably didn't know that she was, in fact, my angel. I still hadn't had the courage to tell her that I loved her back then. Still, I couldn't help but imagine all the possibilities that we had for dating ideas (as many as I could think of back in the Eighties). Broadway, Hollywood, the Smithsonian, maybe dinner… who knows? Maybe we could even end up working in the same place together.

Where was I again? Oh yes! Muppet Central, of course!

Spying a computer nearby, I scurried over to it and began typing a series of letters and numbers that made up my creation's code. Minutes passed before the typing ceased. I took a brief pause and then pressed the enter key, watching the screen for Waldo to materialize.

The little graphic soon appeared on screen, looking like he had just awoken from slumber. "Huh? Where am I…?" he asked drowsily, rubbing his eyes.

"Welcome to Muppet Central, Waldo," I greeted with a smile.

"Muppet what?" The rubber duck-like creature pressed his nose on the screen. "What is Muppet Central, Digit? I can't see."

Then something happened purely by chance. Waldo fell out of the computer and onto the desk.

"Waldo, are you okay?" I questioned him with concern.

"I think I am." Blinking, he took a look around the central control room. "Woah… this is an AWESOME computer simulation, Digit!" he exclaimed. "Did you design all this?"

I shook my head. "No, Waldo," I began to tell him, "this is where Lindbergh and I work now. It's a control room."

"You don't say…" He then flew up to me. "Hey, how'd you get into the computer too?"

I realized something that I hadn't before. "Waldo, I believe that with all the technology that this place has, you've been allowed to have access outside the computer, into our world."

A gasp escaped the red, white and blue creature's throat. "No. Way. I'm in the human world?" Waldo did back flips in joy. "YAHOO! I'm in the real world! I'm in Muppet Central, I'm with Digit, and I-" He accidentally flew too high and bumped his "hat" on the ceiling. "… ow?"

A light chuckle escaped from my mouth. I could tell already that Waldo was going to like it here. I just hoped that Kermit would approve of my creation being here.

Suddenly, a flash of orange and teal appeared out of the corner of my eye. Turning towards the door, I saw a beautiful woman walking into the control room. She had yet to take notice of me, so I was in the clear to admire her from afar.

"Who's that girl, Digit?" I heard someone whisper to me.

I gave a lovesick sigh before I responded to the voice. "Oh, she's the only one for me…"

"Oh, that must be Vicki, then!" the unmistakable voice of my creation realized. "I'm gonna go talk to her now!" Before I knew it, he had started to fly over to her.

"Waldo, wait!" I softly called after him.

Too late, he had already flown near her. "Hi!"

Vicki was obviously slightly startled at Waldo's sudden appearance. "Oh, hello! You surprised me."

"I can surprise just about anyone with this!" Waldo joyfully stated before he morphed into a cute little kitten and mewed.

"Aww, how cute!" The bespectacled female reached out a hand and petted my creation's head. Soft purring could be heard from Waldo before Vicki asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Sure do!" He morphed back into his default form. "Waldo C. Graphic at your service. You're Vicki, right?"

"Why yes," the pretty redhead responded, "yes I am. I'm Vicki Gale, nice to meet you Waldo."

"Well, I hear talk that you know my good friend Digit."

Right then and there, I knew that I had to do something, and fast. What if Waldo revealed that I had a crush on Vicki before I could tell her that I loved her? I started to walk fast over to the two as the girl answered, "Well, we're acquainted, yes."

"Acquainted, eh?" Waldo echoed. "What if I told you that-"

"Okay, that's enough sugar for you!" I interrupted him, patting him on the head and motioning him onwards. "Why don't you run along, Waldo, and meet all of your new friends?"

"That's right!" Waldo realized. "They don't know about me being in this world yet! I'll catch you guys later!" he called over his shoulder as he flew out of the room.

I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as soon as the graphic left. I was almost certain that he would give my secret away to her. Oh well, at least it was safe for a little while longer…

"Did you design that creature?" Vicki asked me, referring to Waldo.

"Waldo? Oh, he and I are pretty much inseparable," I explained to her. "I created his code from scratch, and now he's here in Muppet Central. I had no idea that the technology of this place could improve his functioning so much," I added.

Vicki nodded and commented, "He's very charming."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Keep in mind that it's only his first outing into the real world."

The bespectacled girl smiled at me. "I'm sure that everyone will love y-him, I mean," she said before clearing her throat. "Well, now that you've found the control room, I take it that you can find your way around Muppet Central?"

"Sure," I replied to her, "it seems easy enough." A brief pause hung in the air. "I can't wait to work with you, Vicki," I confessed, a warm smile on my face.

"The feeling's mutual," she responded before turning around to leave. "I'll see you at work on the first show, right?"

I blinked. First show? What did that mean? Nevertheless, I nodded in response.

"Okay, then. I'll see you later then, Digit." Then she walked out of the room.

"See you later…" I sighed. How long was this being in love thing going to stay with me before I told her?


End file.
